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RICHARD   EDNEY  <- 


THE  GOVEENOR'S   FAMILY. 

A  KUS-URBAN  TALE, 

SIMPLE  AND  POPULAR,  YET  CULTURED  AND  NOBLE, 
OF 

MORALS,  SENTIMENT,  AND  LIFE, 

PRACTICALLY  TREATED  AND  PLEASANTLY  ILLUSTRATED 

CONTAINING,    ALSO, 

HINTS  ON  BEING  GOOD  AND  DOING  GOOD. 

BY  THE  AUTHOR  OF 

"MARGARET,"    AND    "PHILO." 

"MARGARET,     A    TALE    OP    THE    REAL    AND    THE    IDEAL,"    AND     "  PHILO,     AN 
FVANGELIAD." 


BOSTON: 

PHILLIPS,   SAMPSON   &    COMPANY 

1850. 


^/i 


y 


> 


Entered  according  to  act  of  Congress,  in  the  year  1850, 

By  Phillips,  Sampson  &■  Co., 

In  the  Clerk's  Office  of  the  District  Court  of  the  District  of  Massachusetts. 


•  •     •      •  Stefeotyped    by 

HOBART    4    ROEBINS; 

New  England  Type  and  Stereoiype  Foundery, 

BOSTON. 


NOTE, 


Just  as  we  have  sent  the  last  sheet  of  the  manuscript  to  the 
printer,  our  publishers  write  that  an  Introduction,  a  brief  one,  is 
desirable.  We  might  yield  to  their  judgment  what  w^  should 
be  slow  to  extract  from  our  own  indifference.  A  Preface  is 
an  author's  observation  on  his  own  writings.  It  might  be  pre- 
sumed that  a  reader  would  be  better  prepared  to  understand,  and 
more  disposed  to  listen  to  what  an  author  would  say,  at  the  end 
of  a  book  than  at  the  beginning.  Acting  upon  this  consideration, 
we  have  included  in  the  last  chapter  certain  paragraphs  that  may 
seem  to  possess  a  prefatory  character.  To  these  all  persons  inter- 
ested are  respectfully  referred.  We  have  endeavored,  moreover, 
that,  in  the  progress  of  the  work,  the  curiosity  of  the  reader  should 
be  duly  satisfied  on  any  points  that  might  engage  it.  A  Tale  is 
not  like  a  hoiise,  except  in  its  door-plate,  the  title-page.  It  does 
not  require  an  entry  or  a  reception-room.  It  is  rather  like  a  rose, 
the  sura  of  the  qualities  of  which  are  visible  at  a  glance ;  albeit  it 
will  repay  a  minute  attention,  and  affords  material  for  prolonged 

enjoyment.     It  is  like  a  landscape,  which  appeals  in  like  manner  to 
1* 

414588 


a  comprehensive  eye,  rather  than  to  critical  inquiry.  We  incline, 
then,  to  the  rose  and  the  landscape,  notwithstanding  there  may 
be  a  defective  leaf  in  the  first,  or  a  rude  hut  in  the  last.  Not  that 
we  object  to  Prefaces  ;  —  we  like  them,  we  always  read  them,  and 
frequently  find  them  the  best  part  of  a  book.  But  this  book  is 
written,  and  the  author  has  put  his  best  things  into  it ;  he  cannot 
hope  to  improve  it  by  anything  he  might  here  add,  and  he  is 
indisposed  to  peril  its  fortunes  on  any  uncertainties  of  speech  or 
manner ;  and  therefore  prefers  to  submit  it  as  it  is. 


CHAPTER    I, 


RICHARD    COMES    TO    THE    CITY. 


It  began  to  snow.  What  the  almanac  directed  its  readers 
to  look  out  for  about  this  time  —  what  his  mother  told  Rich- 
ard of,  as  she  tied  the  muffler  on  his  neck  in  the  morning  — 
what  the  men  in  the  bar-rooms,  where  he  stopped  to  warm 
himself,  seemed  to  be  rubbing  out  of  their  hands  into  the  fire 

—  what  the  cattle,  crouching  on  the  windward  side  of  barn- 
yards, rapped  to  each  other  with  their  slim,  white  horns  — 
what  sleigh-bells,  rapidly  passing  and  repassing,  jingled  to 
the  air  —  what  the  old  snow,  that  lay  crisp  and  hard  on  the 
ground,  and  the  hushed  atmosphere,  seemed  to  be  expecting 

—  what  a  "snow-bank,"  a  dense,  bluish  cloud  in  the  south, 
gradually  creeping  along  the  horizon,  and  looming  mid- 
heavens,  unequivocally  presaged,  —  a  snow-storm,  came 
good  at  last. 

Richard  had  watched  that  cloud,  as  it  slowly  unfurled 
itself  to  the  winds,  and  little  by  little  let  out  its  canvas,  till 
it  seemed  to  be  the  mainsail  of  the  huge  earth,  and  would 
bear  everything  movable  and  immovable  along  with  it.  He 
saw  the  first  flakes  that  skurry  forwards  so  gingerly  and 
fool-happy  through  the  valleys,  as  if  they  had  nothing  to  do 
but  dance  and  be  merry,  and  were  not  threatened  by  a 
howling  pack  behind.  He  rejoiced  in  the  feeling  of  these 
herald  drops  on  his  cheeks,  and  caught  at  them  with  his 
lips,  refreshing  himself  in  the  dainty  moisture  ;  for  he  had 
walked  a  long  distance,  and,  though  it  was  mid  winter,  his 


8'     •  •    ■  '      '  ■        rtlCHAkD  'E1>XEY   AND 

blood  was  warm,  and  Lis  throat  dry.  The  regular  brush 
commenced,  —  a  right  earnest  one  it  was  ;  and  he  had 
something  else  to  do  than  dally  with  it ;  —  he  must  brave 
the  storm,  and  cleave  his  way  through  it.  He  had  some 
miles  to  go  yet,  and  night  was  at  hand.  The  pack  he  bore 
grew  heavier  on  his  shoulders,  his  feet  labored  in  the  new- 
fallen  snow,  and  what  with  frequent  slips  on  the  concealed 
ice,  his  endurance  was  sore  taxed.  But  he  was  cheerful 
without,  and  strove  to  be  quiet  within  ;  and  made  as  if  he 
were  independent  of  circumstance,  and  free  from  anxiety. 
The  storm  had  a  good  many  plans  and  purposes  of  action. 
It  riddled  the  apple-trees ;  it  threw  up  its  embankments 
against  the  fences ;  it  fell  soft  and  even  upon  shrubs  and 
flowers  in  the  woods,  as  if  it  were  tenderlj"-  burjnng  its  dead; 
it  brought  out  the  farmer,  to  defend  his  herds  against  it ;  it 
stirred  the  pluck  of  the  school-boys,  who  insulted  it  with 
their  backs,  and  laughed  at  it  with  their  faces ;  and,  as  if 
to  spite  this,  it  turned  upon  an  unprotected  female,  a  dress- 
maker, going  home  from  her  .daily  task,  and  twisted  her 
hood  and  snatched  off  her  shawl;  but,  failing  in  the  attempt 
to  rend  her  entire  dress  to  pieces,  it  blinded  her  with  its 
gusts,  and  pitched  her  into  the  gutter.  This  was  too  much 
for  Richard.  If  his  blood  was  hot  before,  it  boiled  now;  and 
flinging  down  his  bundle,  he  sprang  to  the  rescue.  He  raised 
the  woman,  refitted  her  wardrobe,  and  sent  her  on  her  way 
with  many  thanks.  The  storm,  maddened  and  unchecked, 
rallied,  to  stifle  and  subdue  this  new  champion  of  woman's 
rights.  It  smote  Richard  violently  in  the  face,  snatched 
away  his  morsels  of  breath,  and  would  have  sunk  him,  by 
sheer  weight,  in  the  White  Sea  that  surrounded  him. 
When  it  could  not  do  this,  it  flapped  its  enormous  v.ings  in 
his  face,  so  he  could  not  see  his  way.  Anon  it  raised  its 
sweep  aloft,  and  left  a  little  clear  space,  through  which  he 


THE    governor's   FAMILY.  9 

beheld  houses  with  bright  hearth-fires,  and  tables  savor- 
ily  spread  for  the  evening  meal,  and  little  children  getting 
into  their  mothers'  laps,  as  if  to  plague  him  in  this  fashion. 
The  flakes,  as  if  each  one  had  an  individual  commission, 
flew  in  under  the  vizor  of  his  cap,  settled  upon  his  eye- 
lashes, clung  to  his  mufller;  some  penetrated  into  his  neck; 
others  explored  his  nostrils.  He  tried  to  whistle ;  but  the 
storm  kept  his  lips  so  chilled  he  could  not  do  that :  he 
attempted  to  laugh ;  certain  flakes  that  sat  on  his  lips  seized 
the  moment  to  melt  and  run  down  his  throat.  When  the 
storm  could  not  arrest  his  course,  it  began  to  trick  him  for 
everybody  to  laugh  at :  it  whitened  his  black  suit,  till  he 
looked  like  a  miller's  apprentice  ;  the  flakes  piled  them- 
selves in  antic  figures  on  his  pack  and  shoulders,  and  strewed 
his  buttons  with  flaunting  wreaths;  they  danced  up  and 
down  on  his  cap.  But  he  pressed  on,  with  a  whistling 
heart,  as  if  he  thought  it  was  mere  facetiousness  in  the 
elements  to  do  so.  He  knew  there  was  love  and  gladness 
at  the  core  of  all  things ;  and  the  feathery  crystals  that 
frolicked  about  him,  and  then  laid  themselves  down  so  quietly 
to  sleep  for  the  dreary  months  of  winter,  were  full  of  beauty, 
and  there  was  a  luminousness  of  Good  Intent  in  all  the  haze 
and  hurly-burly  of  the  storm.  Richard  was  deeply  religious ; 
and  he  knew  God  said  to  the  snow.  Be  thou  on  the  earth ; 
and  he  felt  that  the  Divine  Providence  cared  for  the  lilies 
of  the  field  as  well  in  their  decay  as  in  their  bloom ;  and 
that  a  ceaseless  Benignity  was  covering  the  beds  where  they 
lay  with  the  lovely  raiment  of  the  season,  and  cherishing  in 
the  cold  ground  the  juices  that  should,  after  a  brief  interval, 
spring  forth  again,  and  create  a  gladsome  resurrection  of 
nature. 

He  had  none  but  kindly  feelings  when  there  passed  him 
a  sleigh,  with  its  occupants  neck  deep  in  buffalo-robes  and 


10  RICHARD    EDNEY   AND 

coats,  and  comfortably  intrenched  behind  a  breastwork  of 
muffs  and  tippets ;  and  the  horse,  he  knew,  was  merry,  by 
the  way  he  shook  his  bells.  He  even  went  one  side,  and 
stood  knee-deep  in  the  drifts,  for  a  slow  ox-sled  to  pass. 
"  Ho  !  my  good  fellow  !  "  he  cried  to  the  teamster,  who  sat 
on  a  strip  of  board,  with  his  back  bowed  and  braced  against 
the  storm,  as  if  there  was  to  his  mind  certainly  something 
in  the  case  suggestive  of  the  knout;  "  you  must  bide  your 
time." 

"  That  is  the  first  truth  I  have  heard  to-day,"  responded 
a  gloomy  voice,  which,  with  the  coarse  shape  in  which  it 
was  wrapped,  soon  swept  out  of  hearing. 

"  One  truth  to-day,"  said  Eichard  to  himself,  "  is  some- 
thing, though  it  is  towards  night." 

He  relapsed  into  musing  and  philosophizing  on  the  world 
and  life,  the  day  and  hour,  and  on  himself  and  his  objects, 
and  on  the  City  in  which  truth  was  so  scarce.  Of  a  sudden, 
the  Factories  burst  upon  him,  or  their  windows  did,  —  hun- 
dreds of  bright  windows,  illuminated  every  night  in  honor 
of  Toil,  —  and  which  neither  the  darkness  of  the  night,  nor 
the  wildness  of  the  storm,  could  obscure,  and  which  never 
bent  or  blinked  before  the  rage  and  violence  around.  The 
Factories,  and  factory  life,  —  how  it  glowed  at  that  moment 
to  his  eye  !  and  even  his  own  ideal  notions  thereof  were  more 
than  transfigured  before  •  him,  and  he  envied  the  girls,  some 
of  whom  he  knew,  who,  through  that  troubled  winter  night, 
were  tending  their  looms  as  in  the  Avarmth,  beauty,  and 
quietness  of  a  summer-day.  The  Factories  appeared  like  an 
abode  of  enchantment ;  and  the  sight  revived  his  heart,  and 
gave  him  a  pleasant  impression  of  the  City,  as  much  as  a 
splendid  church,  or  a  sunny  park  of  trees,  or  fine  gardens, 
would  have  done.  He  was  too  much  occupied  to  notice  a 
spread  umbrella  that  approached   him,  moving  slantwise 


THE   GOVEKKOR's  FAMILY,  11 

abreast  the  storm,  now  criss-crossing,  now  plunging  forward, 
as  it  were  intoxicated.  It  struck  him,  and  in  his  insecure 
footing,  threw  him. 

"  What  is  it  ?  "  said  the  umbrella,  peering  about  on  every 
side. 

"It  is  nothing,"  replied  Eichard,  who  could  hardly  be 
distinguished  from  the  snow  in  which  he  rolled. 

The  umbrella  raised  itself,  as  if  it  were  one  great  eyelid, 
in  astonishment,  muttering,  at  the  same  time,  "  That 's  it ; 
I  knew  I  should  do  it,  and  now  I  have  !  " 

Beneath  the  umbrella  was  really  a  man,  but  apparently  a 
cloak,  a  long  and  slim  cloak,  with  a  shawl  about  its  head 
and  ears  ;  and  it  looked,  also,  as  if  this  cloak  was  hung  by 
some  central  loop  to  the  handle  of  the  umbrella,  and  as  if 
the  umbrella  was  the  only  live  thing  in  the  whole  concern ; 
and  it  kept  bobbing  up  and  .down  in  the  wind,  wrenching 
and  prying,  as  if  it  would  draw  the  vitals  from  the  cloak. 
The  language  of  the  thing  favored  the  idea  of  evisceration. 
"  I  am  almost  dead  !  "  it  said. 

"  Let  me  help  you,"  said  Richard. 

"  I  have  only  a  little  further  to  go,"  replied  the  other. 

"  How  far  have  you  come  ?  "  asked  Richard,  sjinpatheti- 
cally,  thinking  of  the  many  miles  he  had  fared  that  day. 

"  Across  the  River,"  was  the  reply. 

"Is  it  so  far  ?"  rejoined  Richard,  despairingly. 

"  A  hundred  rods  or  so.  But  one  meets  with  so  many 
accidents  here ;  and  nobody's  ways  are  taken  care  of,  and 
life  fs  of  no  value  whatever,  in  these  times." 

Richard,  delighted  at  the  near  end  of  his  journey,  did  not 
conceal  his  pleasure. 

"  You  will  not  laugh,  when  you  have  experienced  what  I 
have,"  said  the  man. 

"  Is  there  nothing  to  do  here  ?  "  asked  Richard. 


12  RICHARD   EDNEY   AND 

"  Yes,  everything,"  was  the  answer. 

"  Then  I  am  secure,"  added  Eichard. 

"  Move  carefully  !  "  —  such  was  the  advice  of  the  retreat- 
ing shadow;  "  it  is  a  slip,  or  a  slump,  all  the  way  through. 
You  will  be  running  into  somebody  else,  or  somebody  will 
run  into  you." 

Richard  grew  thoughtful ;  but  he  repelled  the  phantom  of 
discouragement,  and  clung  closer  to  the  good  angel  of  com- 
mon sense  and  rational  hope,  that  ever  attended  him. 

He  was  comhig  to  Woodylin  to  find  employment.  The 
construction  of  mill-dams  and  railroads  had  sounded  a  gen- 
eral summons,  throughout  the  country,  for  capital  and  labor 
to  flow  in  thither.  Business,  which  means  the  combined 
and  harmonious  activity  of  capital  and  labor,  was  reported 
to  be  good.  The  City  was  evidently  growing,  and  there 
were  those  who  hesitated  to  say  how  large  they  thought 
it  would  become,  lest  they  should  appear  vain.  Many 
young  men  were  attracted  thither,  and  among  these 
was  Richard  Edney.  He  came  from  a  farm,  in  a  small 
interior  village,  and  brought  with  him  considerable  mechan- 
ical expertness  ;  and  now,  just  turned  of  age,  on  the  even- 
ing of  the  day  in  which  he  set  out  to  seek  his  fortune,  or, 
more  strictly,  to  find  a  snug  operative's  berth,  he  appears 
before  the  reader.  He  had  a  married  sister  in  town,  whose 
house  he  would  make  his  home. 

He  came  to  the  covered  bridge,  and  entering  by  the  nar- 
row turn-stile,  found  a  breathing-place  from  the  storm  in  that 
labyrinth  of  timbers.  He  stamped  the  snow  from  his  feet, 
and,  unbuttoning  his  over-coat,  seized  the  lappels  with  his 
two  hands,  and  shook  them  heartily,  as  if  they  were  old 
friends  whom  he  had  not  seen  for  a  long  time,  and  then 
folded  them  carefully  to  his  breast. 

One  or  two  lamps  suggested  the  idea  of  light,  and  that 


THE    governor's   FAMILY.  13 

was  about  all.  Their  chief  effect  was  shadow ;  they  made 
darkness  visible,  and  very  uncomfortably  so.  They  worked 
it  into  uncouth  shapes,  which  were  put  skulking  among  the 
arches,  set  astride  of  the  braces,  hung  up  like  great  spiders 
on  the  rafters,  and  multitudes  of  them  lay  in  ambuscade 
under  the  feet  of  passengers.  No  ;  —  if  there  were  kind 
feelings  in  that  Bridge, — if  any  pulse  of  philanthropy  ran 
through  those  huge  beams  and  iron-riveted  joints,  —  if  there 
were  any  heart  of  good-will  in  that  long  vault,  well  studded 
at  the.  sides,  close-peni  above,  and  firmly  braced  under  foot, 
it  was  an  unfortunate  bridge ;  unfortunate  in  its  expression, 
unfortunate  in  its  efforts  to  show  kindness. 

The  readers  of  this  story  would  like  to  know  how  Rich- 
ard felt.  To  speak  more  in  detail,  there  are  two  popular 
impressions  anent  the  Bridge,  one  of  which  Richard  avoided, 
and  into  the  other  he  fell.  The  first  is,  that  the  Bridge  is 
of  no  use,  that  it  is  a  damage  to  the  community ;  in  other 
words,  that  it  defeats  the  very  object  for  which  it  was  built, 
the  facilitation  of  travel  and  increase  of  intercourse.  For 
instance,  you  will  hear  men  say  they  could  afford  to  keep  a 
horse,  if  it  were  not  for  the  Bridge ;  some,  that  they  should 
ride  a  great  deal  more,  if  it  were  not  for  the  Bridge ;  one, 
that  while  his  business  is  on  one  side  of  the  water,  he 
should  like  to  live  on  the  other,  but  cannot  because  of  the 
Bridge;  ladies,  visiting  on  the  opposite  side  of  the  river,  are 
always  in  haste  to  return  before  sunset,  on  account  of  the 
Bridge.  So  business  and  pleasure,  in  innumerable  forms, 
seem  to  be  interrupted  by  this  structure.  This  feeling,  of 
course,  Richard  had  not  been  long  enough  in  the  neighbor- 
hood to  understand  or  to  share.  But  the  other  popular  im- 
pression, which  indeed  is  connected  with  the  first,  he  did, 
in  some  degree,  though  perhaps  unconsciously,  entertain; 
this,  —  that  the  Bridge  is  useful  as  a  shelter  from  storms, 
S 


14  EICHARD   EDNEY    AND 

from  cold,  and  from  the  intense  heat  of  summer.  It  has  this 
credit  with  the  people ;  a  passive  credit,  a  credit  bestowed 
without  the  least  idea  of  desert  on  its  part;  an  accidental 
good,  wholly  aside  from  the  original  design  of  the  thing, 
which  it  cannot  help  but  bestow,  and  which  it  would  not 
bestow,  if  it  could  help.  It  is  as  if,  in  this  vale  of  winds 
and  rain,  the  Bridge  were  a  little  arbor  one  side  of  the 
way,  to  which  the  wearj'  pilgrim  can  betake  himself.  So, 
in  summer,  when  the  mercury  is  at  ninetj^,  or  at  any  time 
in  a  storm,  or  when  the  roads  are  muddy,  you  will  see  peo- 
ple hastening  to  the  Bridge ;  w-agons  are  driven  faster,  and 
foot-people  increase  their  momentum.  "  We  shall  soon  be 
at  the  Bridge,"  they  say ;  or,  "  Here  is  the  Bridge  ;  I  do  not 
care,  now."  Umbrellas  are  furled,  cloaks  are  loosened,  feet 
cleaned,  and  there  is  a  smile  of  contentment  and  of  home 
in  all  faces,  as  soon  as  they  reach  that  pavilion. 

How  fine  a  refuge  it  was  from  the  hurtling  snow,  how 
admirably  it  was  adapted  to  protect  one  in  this  extremitj'of 
the  season,  how  dry  and  warm  it  was,  what  a  convenient 
place  to  take  breath  in  ;  —  this  Richard  felt.  He  had  this 
feeling  even  deeper  than  most  folk.  Blinded  as  he  was  by 
the  storm,  tired  by  his  long  journey,  lonely  in  feeling,  know- 
ing no  one,  harrowed  a  little  by  the  dark  intimations  that 
had  accosted  him  just  as  he  got  into  the  City,  even  the  small 
lamp  that  glimmered  aloft  had  a  friendly  eye;  and  he  over- 
flowed with  gratitude  to  the  little  twinkler  that  worked  so 
patiently  and  so  hopefully  in  the  deathlike,  skeleton  ribs  of 
the  edifice  ;  and  as  he  seated  himself  on  a  sill,  since  he  did 
not  know  anybody  in  particular,  and  had  not  participated  in 
those  feelings  to  which  w'e  have  referred,  he  thanked  God 
for  the  Bridge.  The  tramping  of  horse-feet,  grating  of 
sleigh-runners,  and  buzz  of  lively  voices,  were  heard  in  the 
darkness ;  and  immediately  there  passed  near  him  an  empty 


THE    governor's    FAMILY.  15 

sleigh,  driven  by  a  man  on  foot,  and  four  or  five  men  and 
women,  likewise  walking. 

"  Horrid  !  "  exclaimed  one.  "What  a  place  for  robbers  ! " 
cried  another.  "  I  had  rather  face  it  out  there,"  added  a 
third,  jerking  his  head  towards  the  gate,  "  than  have  my 
shins  barked  here."  "  I  think  the  lecturer  might  have  spent 
a  few  evenings  in  a  bridge  like  this,"  interposed  a  fourth ; 
"  it  corresponds  to  his  ideas  of  Gothic  architecture.  There 
is  the  dimness,  awe,  and  faint  religious  light;  and  there  is 
no  place  where  one  is  so  reverential,  or  walks  so  circum- 
spectly, as  here."  These  were  young  people,  returning 
from  the  Athenaeum,  and  among  them  were  members  of 
the  Governor's  Family,  —  a  name  that  appears  on  our  title- 
page  ;  and  these  observations  fell  from  them  while  they 
waited  for  the  gate  to  be  opened.  "  What  is  that  by  the 
post  ?  "  exclaimed  one.  "  A  drunken  man  ! "  echoed  another. 
The  ladies  faintly  screamed,  and  rushed  towards  the  gate. 
"  You  are  mistaken,"  said  Richard,  calmly,  but  a  grain 
piqued.  His  tone  and  manner  recalled  the  young  folk  to 
their  senses,  and  not  the  least  to  a  sense  of  injustice  toward 
a  stranger ;  and  they  all  stopped  and  looked  towards  him. 
The  light  of  the  lamp  revealed  brotherly  faces  of  young 
men,  and  gentle  faces  of  young  women,  and  Richard  spoke 
freely.  "  I  am  very  tired,"  he  said  ;  "  I  have  walked  forty 
miles  since  breakfast,  and  I  was  glad  to  sit  here.  But  you 
alarm  me.  Is  this  such  a  horrid  place  ?  "  "  No,  indeed," 
replied  one  of  the  girls ;  it  was  the  Governor's  daughter 
Melicent,  that  spoke.  "We  are  addicted  to  scandalizing 
the  Bridge,  just  as  one  finds  fault  with  his  best  friends." 

"I  do  not  mean  that,"  ansv/ered  Richard,  "but  all  through 
here  —  what  is  about  you  here  —  this  neighborhood  ?  " 

"  There  are  rum-shops  hereabouts,  and  there  is  the  foot 
of  Knuckle  Lane,"  said  a  young  man. 


16  RICHARD    EDXEY    AND 

"I  did  not  see  them,"  replied  Richard. 

"  We  live  in  St.  Agnes-street,"  said  one  of  the  females, 
laughing  very  hard,  "  and  you  may  have  passed  our  houses, 
the  minister's,  the  Governor's,  and  all.  And  we  all  belong 
here.     I  hope  you  don't  think  evil  of  us." 

"  I  was  warned  of  evil  hereabouts,"  responded  Richard. 
"  But  I  am  sure  I  have  nothing  to  fear  from  you." 

"  Melicent !  Barbara  !  "  cried  the  laughing  voice,  "  has  he 
anything  to  fear  from  you  ?  " 

"I  have  been  misunderstood,"  said  Richard,  laughing  in 
turn.  "  But  really  I  have  had  as  pure  religious  feeling, 
while  I  have  been  resting  myself  on  this  bridge,  as  I  ever 
enjoyed,  notwithstanding  your  slight  and  caricature  of  the 
spot." 

"  Benjamin  !  "  cried  the  same  bright  voice,  "  defend  your- 
self;  it  is  your  ribaldry  the  young  man  has  overheard." 

"We  have  come  from  a  lecture  on  Architecture,"  said 
Benjamin  Bennington ;  "  and  the  rest  is  obvious.  Fantastic 
associations  are  awakened  here." 

"  You  will  not  say,"  answered  Richard,  "  that  religious 
sentiment  is  fantastic  !  "  This  was  seriously  said,  and  the 
company  became  silent  when  he  spoke.  "I  mean,"  he 
added,  "  may  not  religious  feeling  be  as  pure  in  this  place, 
at  this  hour,  as  in  any  place  at  any  hour  ?  " 

"  Certainly,  certainly,"  said  Melicent.  "  But  who  are  you 
that  says  this  ?  " 

"  I  am  Richard  Edney,"  said  our  friend.  "  I  am  seeking 
employment ;  can  turn  my  hand  to  almost  anything ;  would 
like  a  chance  in  a  saw-mill.  Can  you  tell  me  where  Asa 
Munk  lives  ?  " 

"  I  cannot,"  said  Benjamin ;  and  none  of  them  could.  "  I 
am  shivering  with  the  cold,"  said  the  laughing  one,  "  and  I 
would  advise  the  young  man  to  learn  better  manners  than 


THE    governor's    FAMILY.  17 

to  sit  here  and  scare  folks  in  the  night."  "  I  should  think 
he  might  find  some  place  more  suitable  for  his  devotions," 
added  one  of  the  girls.  "  Perhaps  a  mill-log  would  be  as 
agreeable  for  him  to  kneel  upon  as  a  hassock,"  continued 
the  laughing  one. 

"  I  fear  this  is  a  bad  place,"  said  Richard.  "  Farewell  to 
yoii  all,  gentle  ladies,"  he  added,  and  went  on  his  way. 

"  May  it  fare  well  with  you  ! "  rejoined  Melicent  Benning- 
ton, sending  her  voice  after  him. 

Richard  crossed  the  Bridge,  and  by  dint  of  information 
plucked  from  the  few  people  abroad  at  that  time,  he  made 
his  way  to  a  story-and-a-half  white  house,  with  doric  pilas- 
ters, that  stood  near  the  bank  of  the  River,  just  above  the 
first  dam. 

He  went  in  at  the  front  door  without  ringing,  traversed 
with  a  quiet  step  the  narrow,  dark  entry,  and  let  himself 
into  the  kitchen,  where  he  knew  he  should  find  his  friends. 
He  was  evidently  looked  for,  and  warmly  welcomed ;  his 
sister  embraced  him  affectionately,  and  his  brother-in-law 
shook  his  hand  very  cordially.  They  were  sitting  in  front 
of  the  stove,  near  a  large  table  drawn  to  the  centre  of  the 
room,  on  which  burned  two  well-trimmed  lamps.  His  sister 
was  mending  a  child's  garment;  his  brother  was  smoking, 
and  reading  a  newspaper.  These  people  were  about  thirty 
years  of  age ;  his  sister  had  dark  eyes  and  hair,  and  a  face 
that  had  once  been  handsome,  but  it  now  wore  a  sallow  and 
anxious  expression ;  she  was  neatly  dressed  in  dark-sprigged 
calico.  The  brother-in-law,  or  Munk,  as  everybody  called 
him,  had  a  freer  look,  and  more  sprightly  bearing.  He  had 
a  small,  twinkling,  blue  eye,  a  long,  good-humored  chin,  and 
slender,  sorel  whiskers.  He  wore  a  stout  teamster's  frock, 
girded  at  the  waist.  If  a  shadow  of  seriousness  sometimes 
2* 


18  RICHARD    EDNEY    AND 

Stole  over  him,  it  was  instantly  dissipated,  or  illumined,  by 
a  cheerful  voice  and  a  jocund  laugh. 

Kichard  laid  off  his  pack  and  over-coat.  "  Do  not  shake 
off  the  snow  here,  brother,"  said  his  sister;  "let  Asa  take 
the  things  into  the  shed." 

Richard  took  off  his  boots,  and  sank  into  the  rocking- 
chair  his  sister  drew  up  for  him,  with  his  feet  bolstered  on 
the  clean  and  bright  stove-hearth.  As  he  has  now  got  out 
of  the  storm  and  his  storm-gear,  and  looks  like  himself,  our 
readers  would  like  to  know  how  he  looks.  He,  like  his 
sister,  had  dark  eyes  and  hair;  his  features  were  comely,  his 
forehead  was  fairly  proportioned,  his  eyebrows  were  distinct 
and  well  placed,  his  mouth  was  small,  and  his  teeth  white. 
His  predominant  expression  was  cheerfulness,  frankness, 
earnestness.  He  had  what  some  would  call  an  intellectual 
look;  and,  judging  from  the  contour  of  his  head,  one  would 
see  that  he  possessed  a  modicum  of  moral  qualities.  His 
cheeks  were  browned  by  the  weather,  but  his  forehead  pre- 
served a  belt  of  skin  of  remarkable  whiteness.  He  was  of 
medium  height,  and  his  body  was  strongly  built,  and  in  all 
its  members  very  regularly  disposed.  He  wore  a  red  shirt, 
and  a  roundabout,  sometimes  called  a  monkey-jacket.  His 
coat,  vest  and  pantaloons,  were  of  a  dark,  stout  cloth,  which 
his  mother  had  evidently  manufactured,  as  she  possibly  had 
been  the  tailoress  of  her  son. 

His  sister  hastened  supper  for  him ;  she  toasted  the  bread, 
cut  fresh  slices  of  corned  beef,  and  prepared  a  cup  of  fra- 
grant, hot  tea.  They  all  sat  round  the  table,  and  each  had 
many  inquiries  to  make,  and  many  to  answer ;  and  many 
details  of  home,  and  friends,  and  life,  to  dilate  upon.  The 
supper  was  abundant,  and  freely  eaten,  but  it  was  not  satis- 
fying; an  uneasiness  remained — so  much  so,  that,  although 
Richard  resumed  his  chair  by  the  stove,  he  could  not  sit  in 


THE    GOVERNOk's    FAMILY.  19 

it.  He  looked  from  side  to  side  of  the  kitchen,  and  at  last 
thrust  his  head  into  a  partly-opened  door,  that  led  into  the 
bed-room.  "  Not  to-night,"  whispered  his  sister,  earnestly. 
"I  must,"  said  Richard.  "Let  him,  Roxy,"  said  Munk. 
"I  must  see  them,"  said  Richard.  "  You  will  wake  them," 
replied  his  sister.  "I  have  made  it  a  rule  not  to  have 
them  waked  after  they  have  once  been  put  to  sleep.  It  will 
get  them  into  bad  habits,  and  they  have  troubled  me  about 
going  to  bed."  "I  will  not  wake  them,"  added  Richard, 
pushing  himself  still  further  into  the  room.  "  Only  let  me 
see  them ;  let  me  have  a  light,  that  I  may  look  at  them." 
"  Not  on  any  account !  "  exclaimed  his  sister.  "  I  always 
said,  if  ever  I  had  a  child,  it  should  not  be  waked  up  after 
it  was  put  to  sleep."  But  he  seized  a  lamp,  which  his 
brother,  despite  the  remonstrances  of  Roxy,  handed  him,  and 
shading  it  with  his  fingei's,  went  into  the  room.  Munk  fol- 
lowed, and  leaned  upon  the  door-post,  with  much  fatherly 
fondness,  and  perhaps  some  brotherly  pride.  His  sister 
went  too,  plainly  with  the  expectation  of  beholding  her  pre- 
diitions  verified,  and  with  the  desire,  also,  of  having  dis- 
played before  the  eyes  of  her  husband  the  consequences 
she  had  so  often  denounced.  What  appeared  ?  Two  little 
children,  snugly  asleep  in  their  truckle-bed ;  two  girls  they 
were,  —  one  about  four  years  old,  the  other  of  a  year  and  a 
half.  Two  beautiful  cherub  heads  were  all  that  could  be 
seen,  and  if  they  were  not  truly  alive,  they  might  have  been 
taken  for  the  best  of  sculpture.  The  hair  of  the  oldest  one 
had  been  treated  with  a  cap,  which  had  fallen  off;  and  that 
of  the  youngest  was  free  and  loose,  soft,  silvery,  and  running 
every  way  in  little  sliining  curls,  and  half-formed  natural  ring- 
lets. "  I  see,"  said  the  mother.  "  So  do  I,"  said  the  uncle,  as, 
holding  the  lamp  over  his  head,  he  stooped  towards  the 
sweet,  tempting  faces.     "  You  mean  to  wake  them  !  "  cried 


20  RICHARD   EDXEY   A>"D 

the  mother.  "  I  mean  to  kiss  them,"  responded  Richard. 
"Let  him,"  whispered  the  father.  "It  is  impossible,"  said 
the  mother ;  "  it  is  contrarj'  to  all  the  rules  I  have  laid  dowii 
for  the  children,  and  what  Mrs.  Mellow  said."  "  I  will  not 
do  that"  added  Richard ;  and,  making  an  effort,  he  did  not ; 
but  hovered  about  the  faces  of  the  children,  put  his  mouth 
towards  one,  and  then  the  other,  and  kissed  the  air  between, 
as  if  that  was  sweet  enough ;  experimented  with  the  light 
on  this  side  and  on  that,  to  get  ever)'  possible  view  of  them  ; 
with  his  thumb  and  finger  took  hold  of  the  little  velvety- 
hands  that  lay  over  the  quilt.  "  Did  they  not  know  I  was 
coming?"  he  asked.  "They  have  talked  about  nothing 
else  all  da}-,"  replied  his  brother;  "Memmy  asks  about 
Uncle  Richard;  Bebb)'  can't  articulate,  but  she  mows  and 
winks,  and  knows  all  about  it."  "  They  have  the  promise 
of  seeing  you  in  the  morning,"  said  his  sister,  "  and  went 
quietly  to  sleep  on  that."  The  children  slumbered  on, 
undisturbed  alike  by  the  storm  above  the  roof,  and  the 
deep  anxieties  and  affections  that  were  shaking  beneath. 
"  Mother  sent  them  some  cakes  and  apples ;  they  are  in  my 
luggage.     I  should  love  to  give  them  to  them  to-night." 

"How  foolish  you  are,  brother!"  said  Roxy.  "  I  would 
not  have  them  eat  such  things,  just  before  going  to  bed,  for 
the  world." 

But  Richard  got  the  apples,  large  and  rosy,  which  he 
held  insinuatingly  before  the  closed  eyes  of  the  children; 
pleased  himself  with  imagining  how  they  would  like  to  eat 
them ;  put  them  close  to  their  cheeks,  as  it  were  comparing 
colors ;  and,  when  he  had  finished  this  pantomime,  laid  them 
OH  the  coverlid  in  front  of  their  mouths  ;  and  they  left  the 
room. 

This  slight  ripple  of  discord  having  spent  itself,  their 
hearts  returned  to  their  old  and  proper  level  of  kindness  and 


THE    governor's    FAMILY.  21 

brotherly  feeling-.  They  resumed  their  seats  by  the  fire, 
which  burned  briskly  and  noisily.  Roxy  took  her  sewing; 
Muuk  leaned  back  against  the  wall,  with  his  feet  on  a 
round  of.  his  wife's  chair,  and  continued  to  smoke;  and 
Richard,  by  the  warmth  of  his  heart,  as  well  as  that  of  the 
fire,  tried  to  subdue  the  chills  with  which  a  long  walk  in 
the  open  air  had  infused  his  system. 

"  I  do  not  doubt,"  said  Rox)^  "  that  Richard  loves  the 
children,  and  that  their  father  does ;  but  you  are  very  inju- 
dicious." 

"  Perhaps  I  was  hasty,"  said  Richard. 

"  I  believe  I  shall  go  to  California,"  said  Munk.  This 
last  remark  was  evidently  thrown  in,  not  to  aid  conversa- 
tion, or  even  to  decoy  it,  but  to  quench  it  altogether,  when 
it  happened  to  take  a  disagreeable  turn. 

Richard  went  to  bed.  His  chamber  —  such  as  a  story- 
and-a-half  house  affords  —  was  small  and  low,  with  sloped 
ceiling,  but  plastered,  papered,  and  quite  convenient.  It 
contained  a  looking-glass,  side-table,  and  fireplace.  The 
single  window  of  w^hich  it  could  boast  looked  out  upon  the 
River,  and  a  beautiful  landscape  beyond.  The  bed  was  soft 
and  warm ;  and,  after  offering  his  evening  thanksgiving  to 
the  Giver  of  all  good,  exhausted  and  weary,  our  young 
friend  sank  into  a  sound  sleep. 

Early  in  the  morning,  he  was  aroused  by  the  clamor  of 
voices  at  his  bed-side ;  there  stood  the  disputed  little  ones, 
in  their  night-gowns,  each  with  an  apple  in  its  hands,  with 
which  they  were  pummeling  the  face  of  their  uncle,  and  at 
the  same  time  making  very  awkward  attempts  to  clamber 
into  the  bed.  One  of  them,  as  the  father  said,  could  talk, 
and  the  other  could  make  a  noise ;  but  neither  lacked  the 
power  of  rendering  itself  intelligible.  Their  uncle  lifted 
them  up,  and  had  them  on  either  side  of  him,  where  he 


22  EICHARD   EDNEY,    ETC. 

kissed  and  embraced  their  tender  bodies  to  his  heart's  con- 
tent. But  they  were  not  for  lying  there.  They  mounted 
his  neck  and  shoulders ;  they  took  all  sorts  of  liberty  with 
his  nose  and  eyes,  and  ended  with  an  endeavor  to  drag 
him  from  the  bed.  He  yielded  to  the  children  what  the 
storm  could  not  accomplish,  and  came  almost  headlong  to 
the  floor.  Presently,  taking  Bebby  in  his  arms,  and  mount- 
ing Memmy  on  his  back,  he  went  below. 


CHAPTER  II. 


THE    GOVERNOR  S    FAMILY. 


Let  us  go  back  to  the  previous  evening,  and  down  St. 
Agnes-street,  into  the  Governor's  house,  soon  after  the  young 
people  have  returned  from  the  lecture. 

This  house,  of  a  fashion  forty  years  old,  was  large,  three- 
story,  brick,  surrounded  by  a  portico,  and  pleasantly  em- 
bayed in  trees,  some  dozen  or  fourteen  rods  from  the  street. 

On  this  boisterous  winter  night,  the  family  are  gathered 
in  a  spacious  apartment,  calld'd  the  sitting-room.  In  the 
centre  of  the  room  is  a  large  mahogany  table,  carefully 
covered  with  a  damask  counterpane,  over  which  a  solar 
lamp  sheds  its  strong  light.  Around  the  table  are  seated 
the  family,  if  we  may  except  the  Governor  himself,  who,  in 
front  of  a  blazing  wood  fire,  reclines  in  a  rocking-chair,  with 
his  feet  on  the  jamb.  The  mother  of  the  family,  or,  as  she 
is  commonly  known.  Madam  Dennington,  controls  one  side 
of  the  table,  with  her  sewing  spread  before  her.  She  has 
also  under  her  special  control  a  spermaceti  candle,  and  a 
pair  of  silver  snuffers,  with  which,  in  moments  of  excite- 
ment, she  makes  energetic  starts  for  the  candle-wick.  It 
was  not  her  wish  to  have  the  solar  lamp.  Her  father.  Judge 
Weymouth,  used  candles,  and  she  had  used  them  for  thirty 
years  ;  and  they  answered  their  purpose,  and  she  was  indis- 
posed to  see  their  province  invaded.  She  wore  a  turban, 
out  of  regard  to  her  mother.  She  was  short,  erect,  and 
retained  that  vigor  of  eye  and  dignity  of  manner  for  which 
her  family  were  celebrated. 


24  RICHARD    EDNEY    AND 

About  the  table  were  the  children  and  relatives  of  the 
family.  The  governor  had  tweh^e  children,  of  whom  eleven 
survived.  The  name  of  the  deceased  one,  Agnes,  was  pre- 
served in  the  street  on  which  they  resided.  Four  were 
married  from  home.  The  others,  in  order,  were  Roscoe, 
Benjamin,  Melicent,  Barbara,  Eunice,  and  two  smaller  ones, 
who  at  this  hour  were  abed.  Roscoe  was  about  twenty-six, 
and  the  rest  succeeded  in  due  course  of  nature. 

The  relatives  were  Miss  Rowena,  a  cousin  of  Madam's, 
and  Mrs.  Melbourne,  a  lady  reared  in  the  family  of  the 
Rev.  Dr.  Dennington,  father  of  the  Governor,  and  who,  for 
many  years,  had  been  a  member  of  the  household  of  the 
latter. 

Roscoe  was  addicted  to  bachelor  habits,  and  bachelor 
moods ;  he  had  no  fondness  for  society,  and  a  good  educa- 
tion he  found  scope  for  in  the  management  of  his  father "s 
farm.     Benjamin  was  a  lawyer. 

Madam  was  nervous,  and,  above  all  things,  dreaded  a 
scene ;  and  when  the  wind  howled  at  the  house,  and  shook 
the  windows,  she  started,  as  if  one  was  coming.  She  was 
rehgious,  and  seasoned  her  word-s  with  verses  of  Scripture. 
She  was  industrious,  and  plied  the  needle  assiduously;  yet 
not  for  herself,  but  for  others ;  and  not  always  for  the  work 
to  be  done,  but  for  the  example  to  be  set. 

If  she  relished  the  old  rt'gime,  she  was  charitable  to  the 
new  ;  and  while  she  sought  to  preserve  the  times  past,  her 
good  sense  and  strong  faith  inspired  her  with  interest  in 
those  to  come.  She  reverenced  the  clergy,  and  defended 
the  reformer. 

Her  daughters  were  passing  from  the  flower  of  youth 
into  the  beauty  and  richness  of  womanhood.  Their  dress 
honored  the  simple  taste  of  their  mother ;  it  was  plain, 
becoming,  and  neat  without  ornament.     The  two  relatives 


THE    governor's    FAMILY.  25 

were  benevolent  looking  people,  whose  happiness  seemed  to 
consist  in  making  the  family  happy. 

Miss  Rowena  had  a  lively  and  jocose  turn  ;  while  Mrs. 
Melbourne  was  subject  to  depression  of  spirits,  in  which 
moments  her  vision  was  hazy,  and  her  feelings  petulant. 

We  have  said  this  was  a  large  room;  it  had,  also,  an  air 
of  great  amenity  and  comfort.  The  lamp  wrought  a  quiet 
but  deep  illumination  in  all  parts  of  it ;  the  open  fire  was 
cheerful ;  naj?-,  it  was  inspiring,  at  such  times  as  these,  when 
tliat  well-meaning  but  stupid  creature,  with  a  cast-iron  face, 
has  undertaken  to  perform  for  us  the  office  of  warmth  and 
sociability  through  the  long  months  of  winter,  but  which 
the  Governor,  with  a  luxurious  or  an  antiquated  feeling, 
summarily  dismissed  from  his  premises.  Pictures  garnished 
the  walls,  a  sofa  invited  to  repose,  a  piano  suggested  music, 
a  stand  in  one  corner  was  enriched  with  choice  literature ; 
under  one  of  the  windows  was  a  table,  stocked  with  flower- 
pots, and  bearing  geraniums  and  roses  in  bloom,  and  many 
plants  whose  living  verdure  was  a  shelter  for  the  feelings 
from  the  storm  ;  the  mantel-piece  constituted  a  general  news 
ofiice,  and  collected  the  papers,  pamphlets,  letters,  for  daily 
distribution  ;  above  it  was  suspended  a  shell  card-rack,  the 
more  select  depository  of  the  lace-edged  and  enameled 
missives  of  fashion  and  polite  society.  A  large  mirror,  on 
one  wall,  reproduced,  in  attractive  vista,  this  pleasant  scene, 
and  prolonged  the  interest  which  the  room  afforded  to  con- 
templation. 

The  Governor  left  his  rocking-chair,  and  paced  to  and  fro 
on  the  back  side  of  the  room.  He  had  always  condemned 
rocking-chairs,  and  now,  in  his  advancing  years,  he  would 
not  sit  in  one  a  great  while  at  a  time  ;  thus  keeping  on  good 
terms  his  age  and  his  principles.  His  hands  locked  behind 
him  under  his  dressing-gown,  his  head  bent  forwards,  he 
3 


26  RICHARD    EDNEY   AJSID 

seemed  fo  be  in  a  brown  study  ;  —  it  was  a  passive  habit. 
He  stopped  against  the  window,  and  looked  askance  at  the 
storm,  as  if  he  were  suspicious  of  it,  but  said  nothing.  He 
had  practised,  all  his  life,  the  school-boy  direction  of  not 
speaking  until  he  was  spoken  to  ;  and,  on  the  whole,  not 
without  a  certain  advantage,  since  he  acquired  more  than 
he  gave  out,  and  not  being  over-communicative,  he  was 
deemed  very  trustworthy ;  and  since  every  one  has  some 
things  to  say  which  he  does  not  wish  to  have  said  again,  it 
follows  that  a  silent  man  in  society  must  gather  up  a  vast 
deal  of  confidence,  like  a  well-regulated  institution,  in  which 
people  like  to  vest  their  spare  capital,  knowing  that  it  will 
not  break ;  —  sometimes  awfully  like  the  sea,  into  which 
malefactors  hurl  dead  men's  bodies,  and  even  their  frightful 
bags  of  gold,  knowing  they  will  not  rise  again. 

In  the  kitchen,  if  any  of  our  readers  are  disposed  to  make 
a  further  survey  of  the  premises,  is  also  what  must  now  be 
called  an  old-fashioned  fire ;  yet  one,  judging  from  the  size 
of  the  sticks,  destined  to  do  good  service  yet,  and  of  a  sort 
of  wood  that,  without  fruit  in  its  living  state,  when  brought 
to  the  hearth,  bears  the  richest  flame-blossoms,  and  expires 
in  a  ruddy,  glowing  crop  of  coals,  —  rock-maple.  Here 
were  also  a  man-servant  and  a  maid-servant ;  the  one,  in 
one  corner  of  the  hearth,  engaged,  as  probably  fifty  thou- 
sand of  our  population  are  at  this  moment,  reading  a  news- 
paper, lamp  in  hand.  The  woman,  modestly  retired  to  the 
other  corner,  at  a  small  table,  is  turning  an  old  silk  dress 
into  a  mantilla. 

"A  fresh  gust  of  wind,  like  a  wave  of  the  sea,  struck  the 
house,  and  moaned  piteously  in  every  crevice  of  door  and 
window. 

"  God  remember  the  poor  !  "  said  Madam,  in  an  under  but 
earnest  voice,  without  looking  at  anybody  in  particular ;  at 


THE    governor's    FAMILY.  87 

the  same  time  hurrying  the  snuffers  into  the  candle,  as  if 
she  would  extinguish  all  the  poverty  in  creation,  and 
pressing  the  cloth  she  was  sewing  with  her  left  hand  tightly 
on  the  table,  as  if  she  were,  in  her  own  mind,  stanching  the 
sorrows  of  the  race. 

"  They  will  need  some  additional  help,"  added  the  Gov- 
ernor, in  a  quiet  way. 

"  Yes,  indeed  ! "  replied  his  wife ;  and  she  recited  that 
passage  of  Scripture  which  intimates  how  vain  it  is  to  bid 
the  destitute  be  warmed,  without  giving  them  what  is 
needful.  Then  she  asked,  "  Has  that  wood  gone  to  the 
O'Conners  ?  " 

"  I  heard  the  crackling  of  it  in  their  stove,  this  afternoon," 
said  Melicent,  "and  saw  the  joyous  glow  of  it  in  the  faces 
of  the  family." 

Once  more  the  stonn  thwacked  the  house,  to  keep  stirring 
and  active  in  its  inmates  the  remembrance  of  humanity ; 
and,  at  this  time,  to  give  additional  pathos  to  its  proceed- 
ings, it  roared  up  and  down  the  chimney,  as  it  were  mim- 
icking, in  condensed  reverberations,  the  hollow,  unheeded 
moan  of  universal  wretchedness. 

Madam  acknowledged  the  force  of  this  appeal ;  but  she 
was  not  to  be  thrown  from  her  balance,  and  she  snuffed  the 
candle  with  marked  deliberation.  Marked,  in  truth ;  — 
j\Iiss  Rowena  saw  it,  and  nodded  to  Melicent  across  the 
table  ;  Mrs.  Melbourne  saw  it,  and  grew  sombre  in  the 
face.  Now,  j\Irs.  Melbourne  had  a  favorite  horse,  which 
she  was  very  tender  of,  all  weathers.  Moreover,  this  horse 
had  not  once  been  mentioned  in  course  of  the  evening;  and 
Mrs.  Melbourne  knew  Madam  was  not  thinking  of  it,  and 
this  worried  her.  Not  but  that  this  lady  had  a  regard  for 
the  poor;  she  had,  but  she  claimed  an  enlargement  of  sym- 
pathy even  to  the  bounds  of  the  mute  creation. 


28  KICHARD    EDNEY   AND 

Madam  kept  to  her  own  thoughts.  Turning  to  her 
grandchild,  who  sat  in  the  comer,  she  said,  "  Alice  Wey- 
mouth !     Alice  Weymouth  !  "    But  the  child  was  asleep. 

"  Asleep !  "  exclaimed  madam,  "  asleep,  under  such 
preaching  as  this?  Asleep,  when  terror  is  calling,  so 
hoarse  and  mournful  ?  Asleep,  when  love  is  summoning  all 
the  elements  to  speak  for  it  ?  "  She  did  not  say  this  loud 
and  boisterously,  but  with  that  subordination  of  manner 
which  never  deserted  her. 

"  I  don't  wonder  the  child  sleeps,"  said  Mrs.  Melbourne ; 
"  she  went  half  a  mile,  with  a  bed-blanket,  before  tea  ;  and  I 
scruple  if  the  horse  in  the  stable  has  a  shred  to  his  back." 

There  was  a  mixture  of  causticity  and  kindness  in  this 
observation ;  she  wished  to  reproach  her  cousin,  and  the 
family  in  general,  for  their  neglect  of  the  brute,  at  the  same 
time  seeking  to  shield  the  child  from  the  apparent  severity 
of  her  grandmother.  In  all  this,  Mrs.  Melbourne  had  the 
habit  of  flattering  herself  she  was  peculiarly,  nay,  in  a 
double-fold,  benevolent ;  and  she  took  the  flatteiy  more  to 
heart,  because  it  was  wholly  a  matter  of  her  own  contriv- 
ance, and  no  one  helped  her  in  it. 

"  Yes,  yes,"  continued  Madam,  "  bed-blanket  is  warming 
three,  by  this  time ;  turkey  sent  yesterday  stayed  a  whole 
table-full  of  stomachs."  Here  she  raised  her  voice,  as  if  she 
were  squaring  accounts  with  the  weather,  and  the  weather 
was  a  trifle  deaf,  and  she  meant  her  own  side  of  the  case 
should  be  fairly  put :  "  Milk  is  served  regularly  every  morn- 
ing ;  have  Peter's  boys  taken  the  cold  meat  ?  "  Hereupon 
the  wind  lulled.  This  g-ave  Madam  an  opportunity  to 
declare  there  never  was  such  a  storm. 

"■  We  have  had  just  such  .^torms,  every  winter,  for  forty 
years,"  replied  the  Governor,  quietly  ;  "  and  you  have  said 
the  same  thing,"  he  added,  "  this  is  now  the  fortieth  time." 


THE    GOVERNOR  S    FAMILY. 


There  was  no  point,  no  sharpness,  in  this  rejoinder ;  it  was 
only  uttered  as  a  pleasant  reminiscence. 

"  Yes,  indeed,"  she  replied,  twisting  a  little  in  her  chair, 
but  soon  regaining  her  composure  ;  "  there  is  nothing  new 
imder  the  sun.  What  has  been,  shall  be."  Nor  did  she 
rejoin  this  out  of  servile  deference  to  the  Governor,  or 
because  she  deemed  the  Scripture  absolute  authority  on 
every  topic  that  might  be  broached  ;  but  a  moment's  reflec- 
tion recalled  to  mind  those  liberal  views  and  permanent  con- 
victions that  lay  deep  in  her  nature,  and  which  exciting 
events,  like  the  storm,  seemed  for  the  instant  to  obliterate. 

These  things  passed  with  little  or  no  notice.  Miss  Row- 
ena  laughed  through  her  hand;  a  smile  rose  to  the  surface 
of  the  lips  of  Melicent,  like  a  dolphin  at  play,  and  disap- 
peared. The  room  was  bright,  and  all  were  tranquil.  The 
Governor  went  to  bed;  he  went  without  a  light,  —  he 
always  did  so.  He  said  it  facilitated  sleep,  to  go  to  the 
place  of  recumbency  through  a  long  passage  of  darkness, 
and  not  flash  into  slumber  too  suddenly.  Benjamin  had  one 
shoulder  piled  on  the  end  of  the  table,  and  the  paper  as 
near  his  eyes  as  possible,  and  his  eyes  as  near  the  light ; 
—  he  was  near-sighted,  and  wore  glasses  ;  —  and  his  read- 
ing was  intense,  and  was  evidently  fighting  its  way  into 
something.  Eunice  had  gone  to  the  piano,  and  while 
the  storm  was  dashing  at  the  keys  of  her  mother's  heart, 
she  was  ofiering  herself,  eyes,  ears,  imagination,  fingers,  to 
the  service  of  a  couple  of  bars  of  music,  and  seemed  unmis- 
takably wishing  that  something  would  fling  her  bodily  on 
to  the  keys  of  her  instrument ;  but  there  was  reluctance,  or 
great  short-coming,  somewhere  ;  there  were  but  few  reason- 
able tones  to  be  heard. 

Benjamin  laid  dowai  his  paper,  and  his  gla.sses  on  top  of 
it,  and  rubbed  his  right  eye  very  hard  with  the  knuckle  of 
3* 


30  HICHARD    EDXEY    AND 

his  forefinger.  "  There  is  something  in  it,"  said  he,  "  if  it 
could  only  be  got  at." 

"  I  have  no  doubt  there  is,"  answered  Eunice,  "  but  who 
shall  say  what  ?  " 

"  I  have  been  thinking  there  might  be,"  said  Barbara. 

"What  if  there  is?"  interposed  Mrs.  Melbourne;  "who 
really  cares  ? " 

"  Indeed,  there  is  !  "  responded  Madam  ;  "  and  there  are 
a  good  many  that  care." 

"  No  doubt,"  echoed  Roscoe. 

What  should  happen,  at  this  instant,  but  that  all  these 
persons  were  thinking  of  different  things ;  Benjamin  of 
California  gold,  Eunice  of  her  music,  Barbara  of  Richard 
Edney,  Mrs.  Melbourne  of  the  horse.  Madam  of  the  poor, 
and  Roscoe  of  the  effect  of  the  cold  on  peach-trees.  The 
evening  wore  on,  the  lights  dulled,  the  fire  burnt  low ;  and 
these  folk  were  becoming  languid,  and  relapsing  into  a  half- 
stupid,  half-unconscious  state,  in  which  the  mind  speaks  out 
as  it  were  in  sleep,  or  in  intoxication  ;  and  each  of  them,  by 
a  sort  of  hidden  wire-pulling,  exposed  what  had  been  on  his 
mind  for  the  last  fifteen  minutes.  They  were  in  a  jumble, 
a  laughable  jumble;  and  when  they  began  to  explain,  they 
fell  into  a  greater  jumble,  and  laughed  a  good  deal  harder; 
their  thoughts  twirled  one  another  round,  and  tripped  each 
other's  heels,  — all  in  play.  Their  thoughts,  secretly  con- 
trolled by  the  real  harmony  of  their  feelings,  fell  into 
groups  and  circles,  and  a  sort  of  wild  polka  gallopade ; 
but  Barbara's  thought,  being  the  newest  and  strongest,  got 
the  upper  hand,  and  led  off,  with  all  the  others  following  it ; 
and  Barbara's  thought  was  Richard  Edney. 

I  dare  say  many  of  our  readers  have  been  having  the 
same  thought ;  and  since  Richard  Edney's  name  is  so  near 
the  Governor's  Family,  on  the  title-page,  they  are  glad  to 


THK    governor's    FAMILY.  31 

have  it  get  in  there  at  last,  and  perhaps  wonder  how  it  will 
be  treated.  That  is  easily  told;  —  it  was  laughed  at.  Miss 
Rowena  loved  to  laugh,  and  to  be  decorous  too.  To  unite 
these  two  things,  she  bit  her  lip.  If  we  should  sajj-  now  she 
hither  lip  hard  —  the  fact  —  it  would  only  be  saying  she 
laughed  hard. 

Eunice  said  she  hoped  he  would  find  Asa  Munk's ;  Bar- 
bara hoped  he  would  find  work ;  Miss  Eowena  hoped  so 
too,  and  then  he  would  not  be  out  late  evenings,  frightening 
people  in  strange  places ;  Melicent  desired  that  his  inno- 
cence and  simplicity  might  not  suffer. 

"  There  would  be  great  danger  of  it,"  said  Miss  Rowena, 
"  if  he  had  happened  in  St.  Agnes-street." 

"What!  what!"  ejaculated  Madam,  quickly  and  ner- 
vously. She  folded  up  her  work,  and  unfolded  it.  She 
rolled  the  edge  of  it  in  her  fingers,  and  unrolled  it.  Just  as 
she  was  going  to  bed,  and  the  storm  was  subsiding,  she  was 
not  prepared  for  the  introduction  of  a  stranger,  or  a  strange 
topic ;  and  while  she  commiserated  any  one  in  distress,  she 
was  not  quite  prepared,  at  that  late  hour,  to  go  in  quest  of 
new  objects. 

"What  is  it?"  she  asked,  emphatically ;  for  all  wit- 
nessed her  agitation,  but  none  answered  her  directly.  There 
was  a  mixture  of  shame  and  suspense  in  their  recollections 
of  what  transpired  ;  and  what  they  said  was  as  confused  as 
it  was  lively. 

Alice  Weymouth,  the  granddaughter,  who  had  been  of 
the  party  to  the  lecture,  related  that  they  had  met  a  drunken 
man,  or  a  tired  man,  or  an  old  man,  she  hardly  knew  which; 
nor  whether  he  was  young  or  old  had  she  any  clear  im- 
pression ;  and  had  left  him  to  find  his  way,  in  an  unknown 
town.  Mrs.  Melbourne  hinted  they  might  have  offered  him 
a  bed.     Madam,  truly  considerate  as  she  was  of  the  world 


32  RICHAUD    EDNEY   AND 

at  large,  slirank  from  the  idea  of  an  utter  stranger  in  the 
house ;  and  in  this  very  thing,  Mrs.  Melbourne,  by  pushing 
her  benevolence  a  little  further  than  the  rest,  contrived  to 
keep  up  a  little  quarrel,  and  attain  a  brief  triumph,  on  the 
gentlest  of  topics,  and  with  people  whom,  from  the  bottom 
of  her  soul,  she  loved.  It  was  her  weakness.  Miss  Row- 
ena  intimated  that  he  might  sleep  with  the  hired  man,  who 
would  take  care  of  him  if  he  was  likely  to  do  mischief. 

The  young  ladies  drew  their  chairs  about  the  fire; 
Madam  turned  down  the  solar  lamps,  sent  Alice  to  bed, 
and  admonishing  her  daughters  not  to  make  free  with 
strangers,  or  light  of  miser)',  went  to  her  chamber. 

The  young  ladies  lifted  the  smooth  folds  of  their  hair  over 
their  ears,  undid  their  belts,  and  sat  musing  upon  the 
embers  on  the  hearth. 

"  A  liberal,  hopeful,  wise  human  voice,  anywhere,"  said 
Melicent,  "  anywhere,  is  something ;  but  there,"  she  went 
on,  "  there,  in  that  darkness,  that  solitude,  wath  the  storm 
racketing  and  rending  around  it,  and  those  weird  shadows 
behind  it,  and  the  bitter,  sullen  cold  piercing  it,  — how  very 
strange  it  is  !  " 

She  thrust  her  fingers  further  under  her  hair,  and  raised 
it  higher  over  her  ears,  as  if  she  would  hear  more  of  that 
voice. 

"  Voices  !  "  said  Barbara.  "  Speech,  a  breath,  a  sigh,  a 
prolongation  of  feeling,  a  flight  of  wish,  an  impersonation ; 
without  properties  or  relations;  without  the  weights  of 
flesh  and  blood ;  without  the  temptations  of  accident  or 
position;  without  poverty,  or  ignorance,  or  vice;  without 
ill-nature  or  ill-breeding  ;  without  folly  or  prejudii^e  ;  with- 
out circumstance  and  without  inevitability;  —  yes,  voices 
are  well  enough,  and  there  is  plenty  of  them." 

"  I  have  no  doubt  there  are  some  in  my  piano,"  added 


THE    governor's    FAMILY.  33 

Eunice  ;  "  and,  like  the  woman  and  her  goose,  I  should  like 
to  break  it  open  and  get  at  them," 

"  Eunice !  "  cried  one  from  the  chamber,  "is  it  not  time 
you  were  abed  ?  Alice  Weymouth  would  excuse  you,  but 
it  would  be  a  trial  to  her  feelings,  which  are  a  little  tender 
such  a  night  as  this." 

"  There  is  a  voice  for  you,"  said  Eunice,  "  right  from  the 
pit  of  your  mother's  heart.  The  weather,  that  has  chilled 
every  fibre  of  my  fingers,  has  thawed  out  the  great  aorta  of 
her  sensibilities.  How  do  you  like  it  ?  How  did  you  use 
to  like  it,  when  you  were  of  my  age,  —  snatching  you  away 
from  pleasant  company,  breaking  up  your  tete-a-tetes  with 
the  low  fire,  spoiling  the  pleasant  feeling  of  your  own  inde- 
pendence and  womanhood,  blasting  the  enchantment  of  a 
novel  or  a  moonlight,  chasing  you  up  stairs,  and  giving  you 
no  rest  till  you  slipped  away  from  it  beneath  three  heavy 
coverlids  ? " 

Eunice,  as  one  of  the  younger  children,  still  required,  or 
received,  some  motherly  looking  after.  She  was  an  obedient 
child,  and  did  what  her  mother  wished  her  to  do ;  she  shut 
the  piano,  kissed  her  sisters,  and  retired. 

The  two  sisters,  by  this  time,  were  left  alone  ;  one  by  one, 
all  had  gone ;  the  last  footsteps  on  the  stairs  were  heard, 
the  last  door  was  shut,  the  last  muffled  creaking  in  the  dis- 
tant chambers  had  died  away. 

But  no  gloom  or  sorrow  remained,  though  but  one  candle 
burned,  and  but  a  handful  of  coals  were  alive.  The  storm 
was  over ;  the  atmosphere  fell  into  repose ;  the  moon 
looked  down  upon  the  hills  sleeping  beneath  their  robes 
whiter  than  Marseilles  quilts,  with  a  calm,  gushing  eye, 
like  a  mother  upon  her  little  children  in  bed  ;  and  the  clouds, 
soft  as  summer,  looked  lovingly  upon  the  moon.  The  par- 
lor could  not  be  empty ;  for  the  moonlight  came  in  at  the 


34  KICHARD   EDNEY   AND 

windows,  and  brought  with  it  the  shadows  of  the  great 
ehns  that  stood  before  the  house,  the  branches  of  which 
went  to  extemporizing  pretty  patterns  of  things  right 
over  the  figures  of  the  carpet,  getting  up  a  smart  trial 
between  nature  and  art,  and  half  persuading  us  of  the 
superiority  of  the  first.  More  than  this,  the  spirit  of  love 
and  the  sense  of  a  divine  presence  remained ;  parental  and 
brotherly  kindnesses  and  attentions  kept  their  place  good ; 
gladness  and  joy  still  sat  about  the  table ;  wisdom  and  rev- 
erence held  its  seat  in  the  great  rocking-chair ;  the  words 
of  the  dead  and  the  memories  of  the  absent  brooded  among 
them  ;  and  voices,  —  a  thousand  murmuring  voices  of  beauty, 
sweetness,  ideality,  ecstasy,  —  like  a  rivulet,  flowed  around 
the  piano. 

These  sisters  were  alike,  and  they  were  unlike.  They 
were  about  the  same  age,  height  and  weight.  Strangers 
often  mistook  one  for  the  other.  They  were  fully  and  sym- 
metrically developed.  Their  constitutions  had  been  rein- 
forced by  exercise,  and  nurtured  by  work.  With  every 
means  of  luxury,  their  habits  were  moderate.  The  features 
of  both  had  rather  a  Roman  than  a  Grecian  cast.  They 
were  light  complexioned,  but  Barbara  retained  throughout 
an  infusion  of  shadow  deeper  than  Melicent ;  her  eyes  were 
darker,  her  skin,  and  her  hair.  White  was  a  becoming 
color  <br  both ;  while  pink  was  the  favorite  fancy  dress  of 
Barbara,  and  blue  of  ]\lelicent.  Melicent  was  the  type  of 
perfect  women  ;  Barbara  was  a  perfect  Avoman  :  the  beauty 
of  the  one  softened  into  the  roundness  of  the  whole ; 
that  of  the  other  was  concentrated  into  the  sharpness 
of  the  individual.  If  you  were  acquainted  with  many 
excellent  women,  you  would  fancy  you  had  seen  a  dozen 
Melicents  to  one  Barbara.  They  had  both  been  to  the 
same   schools,  they  read   the  same   books,   and  belonged 


THE    governor's    FAMILY.  35 

to  the  same  church.  In  dietetics,  Melicent  drank  coffee, 
Barbara  drank  tea.  In  recreation,  Barbara  liked  to  wahz, 
Melicent  preferred  the  minuet.  '  They  were  both  Chris- 
tians ;  but  Barbara  sometimes  speculated  on  the  miracles, 
—  Melicent  loved  the  SaTviour ;  Barbara  aspired  after,  and 
sometimes  stumbled  in  pursuit  of,  the  infinities  of  the  uni- 
verse,—  Melicent  delighted  to  yield  herself  to  the  serene, 
unconscious  currents  of  the  immortal  life;  Melicent  bore  her 
cross  with  the  patience  of  a  martyr,  —  Barbara  carried  off  hers 
more  with  the  ease  of  a  strong  man.  Barbara  had  more 
ideality,  —  Melicent  more  purity  ;  Barbara  more  impulse,  — 
Melicent  more  firmness.  Melicent  possessed  force -of  char- 
acter, —  Barbara  power  of  manner.  In  filial  devotion  they 
were  equal ;  but  Melicent  staid  at  home  when  her  mother 
wished  her  to  stay,  and  Barbara  went  abroad  when  her 
mother  wished  her  to  go.  Barbara  would  make  a  sacrifice 
if  her  parents  insisted ;  Melicent  would  make  one  after  they 
had  ceased  to  insist.  Barbara  was  more  lively,  —  Melicent 
more  solid.  Barbara  could  joke  with  the  best  of  feelings ; 
when  Melicent  had  the  best  of  feelings,  she  could  not  joke. 
In  respect  of  humanity,  Barbara  was  an  Abolitionist,  —  Mel- 
icent gave  herself  to  the  cause  of  Peace.  Barbara  had  great 
hope  for  the  race,  —  Melicent  a  strong  faith  in  it.  Both 
excelled  in  music  ;  but  Barbara  preferred  Beethoven,  —  Meli- 
cent, Strauss.  Barbara  would  create  a  deeper  and  stronger 
impression,  —  Melicent  a  pleasanter  and  warmer  sympathy. 
Barbara  would  suggest  a  thousand  thoughts  to  you, — Meli- 
cent would  transfuse  you  with  a  certain  stillness  and  seren- 
ity that  would  speedily  fill  with  thoughts. 

These  sisters  looked  out  on  the  moonlight ;  but  they  did 
not  go  to  the  same  window,  nor  did  they  put  their  arms 
around  each  other,  in  the  common  glow  of  beautiful  entranced 
feeling.    One  went  to  a  window  on  one  side  of  the  chimney, 


36  RICHARD   EDNEY    AND 

—  the  other  to  the  other.  They  spoke  to  each  other,  as  it 
were,  through  the  chimney ;  each  heart  feh,  and  uttered, 
and  reflected  back,  the  glorious  world  without,  not  to  itself, 
but  that  the  other  heart  might  hear.  Barbara  said,  "  0 
Spirit  of  Eternal  Beauty,  keep  me  this  night !  "  Melicent 
responded,  "  O  beautiful  love  of  God,  I  am  thine  to-night !" 

They  set  in  place  the  chairs,  wheeled  back  the  sofa, 
removed  the  lamp  and  damask  cloth  from  the  table,  that  it 
might  be  ready  for  the  servants  to  lay  the  breakfast  in  the 
morning ;  exchanged  the  elegant,  downy  hearth-rag  for  an 
obsolete,  thread-bare  one ;  raked  up  the  fire,  bolted  the 
door ;  and  they  too  went  to  bed. 

We  offer  this  chapter  to  our  readers,  not  because  it  con- 
tains matter  rare  or  striking  ;  —  it  does  not;  it  is  of  common 
and  familiar  things;  —  and  because  it  is  of  common  and 
familiar  things,  we  write  it.  It  is  a  simple  picture  of  a 
worthy  American  family,  that  we  would  like  to  preserve, 
but  which  we  are  more  anxious  to  present  to  our  distant 
readers. 

American  family!  Patagonian  ?  Esquimaux?  Nay; 
an  United  States  of  North  American.  Between  a  barbarism 
on  the  one  hand  and  a  falsity  on  the  other,  we  adopt  the 
ialsity.  A  little  euphuistic  conformity  is  to  be  preferred  to 
a  broken  pate.  We  are  not  puissant  enough  to  throw  the 
glove  to  national  pride  in  favor  of  a  proper  nomenclature. 
The  force  of  this  observation  will  be  felt  when  we  drop 
down  to  the  next. 

Our  distant,  readers.  We  mean  the  English,  French, 
German,  Swedish.  But  more,  much  more.  Philosophy 
teaches  that  nothing  is  lost;  and  this  tale  must  survive. 
Morality  urges  the  illimitableness  of  human  influence; 
wherefore  we  may  calculate  that  some  wave  of  kind  appre- 
ciation will  cast  these  pages  on  the  remotest  shores.     Now, 


THE    governor's    FAMILY.  37 

if  license  can  be  had  from  the  Imperial  Commission  of 
Turkey,  and  our  friend,  Ees  Hawk  Effendi,  of  Constanti- 
nople, amidst  other  engagements,  shall  be  able  to  complete 
the  translation,  we  hope  to  publish  the  book  in  that  cele- 
brated metropolis. 

But  there  are  pirates  in  that  region,  who  will  undoubt- 
edlj^  be  on  the  alert,  and  use  so  favorable  an  occasion  to 
pounce  upon  the  work,  and  translate  it  into  the  language  of 
contiguous  nations,  —  say  the  Tartars,  —  where  its  circula- 
tion, unimpeded  by  copy-right,  must  be  immense. 

Now,  it  is  an  established  premise  of  history,  that  the  Tar- 
tars, or  ancient  Scythians,  peopled  Europe ;  that  the  Anglo- 
Saxons  and  Normans  came  primarily  from  the  banks  of  the 
Caspian.  Whence  it  follows  that  we,  soi-disant  Americans, 
deduce  our  genealogy  from  a  spot  renowned  as  the  home  of 
Genghis  Khan  and  Tamerlane. 

Consider,  then,  the  pleasure  of  introducing  a  work  like 
this  among  our  almost  forgotten  ancestors  !  With  what 
delight  must  they  hail  intelligence  from  their  long-lost,  but 
still  alive  and  well,  trans-Atlantic  and  trans-Pacific  children  ! 
With  what  eagerness  will  the  ladies,  God  bless  them  !  of 
Samarcand,  that  famous  city,  order  the  numbers,  as  they 
successively  appear,  done ,  in  silk  paper  —  no  other  is  used 
there  —  in  the  book-stalls  of  the  great  bazaar  of  the  place  ! 
How  exhilarating  for  the  dear  creatures,  in  loose,  flowing 
costume,  with  this  volume  in  hand,  to  stroll  into  the  valley 
of  the  Sogd,  where,  says  the  old  geographer,  Ibn  Haukal, 
"  we  may  travel  for  eight  days,  and  not  be  out  of  one  deli- 
cious garden;"  read  to  each  other  about  their  cousins,  Rich- 
ard and  Melicent,  and  Memmy  and  Eebby,  under  the  shade 
of  the  glorious  plane-trees,  and  cool  their  transports  in  an 
atmosphere  of  musk,  which  is  exhaled  indigenously  from 
4 


38  KICHAKD   EDNEY,    ETC. 

the  soil  !  How  it  must  relieve  the  tediumjjf  the  caravan,  to 
have  something  of  this  sort  to  peruse  on  the  way  ! 

Then,  to  retrace  our  steps  a  few  degrees,  let  us  imagine 
the  ladies  of  Constantinople,  in  their  frequent  excursions  on 
the  Bosphorus,  in  those  cailis,  the  "neatest  and  prettiest 
boats  ever  seen,"  reclined  on  soft  and  meditative  cushions, 
and  alternating  the  magnificent  scenery  around  them  with 
glances  at  these  simple,  domestic  pages ;  — would  it  not  be  a 
fine  idea  ? 

But  there  is  a  cloud  in  this  bright  anticipation,  —  and  that 
is  the  point  we  would  impress,  —  a  cloud  arising  from  the 
misnomer  just  alluded  to.  Our  Usbek  relatives  and  Otto- 
man friends  will  ;iot  understand  the  term,  "American 
Family."  They  would  naturally  associate  the  Governor, 
his  kindred  and  contemporaries,  with  the  Russians  of 
Alaska.  A  great  mistake.  Why  not  call  them  a  New 
England  family?  For  the  reason  that  they  are  not;  but 
are  an  United  States  of  North  American  one. 

This  note,  addressed,  indeed,  to  our  cognates  and  fellow- 
citizens,  will  nevertheless  fulfil  its  design  as  regards  these 
distant  literary  circles,  and  explain  what  would  otherwise 
be  a  kind  of  ethnical  and  geographical  myth.  And  cer- 
tainly, if  this  volume  is  to  go  among  the  Tartars,  we  cannot 
but  be  anxious  that  the  introduction  be  as  smooth  and 
unencumbered  as  possible. 

It  will  not  only  shed  light  on  the  interesting  topic  of  the 
names  of  places,  to  which  we  may  again  refer ;  —  it  will 
likewise  support  the  propriety  of  certain  matters  that  may 
appear  in  the  progress  of  these  chapters. 


CHAPTER    III. 

KICHARD    FIXDS    EMPLOYMENT, 

The  next  day  Munk  went  with  Richard  to  the  Saw-mills, 
There  were  many  of  these  stretched  along  the  canals  lead- 
ing from  the  River.  They  were  large  buildings;  long, 
broad  and  low,  and  one  story  high.  Busy,  busy ;  so  busy, 
as  Richard  looked  into  one  and  another,  his  first  thought 
was,  they  must  want  assistance ;  but  he  soon  found  they 
all  wanted  work.  In  a  great  city,  everybody  seems  to  be 
doing  something,  and  it  seems  as  if  there  was  something 
for  everybody  to  do ;  but  try  it,  just  try  it !  They  came 
to  one  known  from  its  color  as  the  Green  Mill. 

"  Here  is  Captain  Creamer,"  said  Munk,  "  a  great  friend 
and  patron  of  young  operatives ;  I  will  introduce  you.  He 
rents  two  or  three  saws." 

Captain  Creamer  was  a  man  whom  time  dealt  gently  with, 
while  advancing  years  served  to  ripen  his  person  and 
graces;  and  with  a  few  additions  of  art,  —  and  art,  we  aie 
told,  is  the  interpreter  of  nature,  as  in  this  instance  she 
labored  to  give  most  certainly  the  spirit  of  nature,  and  na- 
ture is  kind, — additions  of  art,  we  say,  as  lunar  caustic 
for  his  gray  hair,  and  porcelain  for  his  empty  gums,  he 
would  pass  for  quite  youthful. 

"  I  hope,"  said  the  Captain,  speaking  politely,  "  you  are 
very  well,  ]\Ir.  Munk,  and  that  Mrs.  Munk  is  well.  Belle 
Fanny  I  need  not  inquire  after;  a  bargain,  that,  Mr.  Munk ; 
she  is  the  neatest  trotter  the  city  can  boast.  That  is  my 
judgment.     Brother-in-law,  you  say ;  I  am  glad  to  see  Mr. 


40  EICHARD    EDNEY    AND 

Edney.  I  think  I  have  heard  of  you.  A  new  one  seekhig 
employment.  They  come  fast.  I  think  I  have  condemned 
ten  applications  within  a  week." 

"  Then  you  have  no  chance  for  him,"  concluded  Mr. 
Munk. 

"  No,  no  ;  I  did  not  say  so.  But  it  takes  extraordinary,  I 
might  say,  mountaineous  talents,  to  succeed.  He  has  friends 
who  are  interested  for  him,  and  his  own  heart  is  interested 
for  itself.  As  the  poet  has  said,  he  has  on  the  Avhole  armor. 
Let  me  see  you  measure  and  figure  on  that  stock  of 
boards." 

Richard  took  the  rule  and  chalk,  and  in  a  few  minutes 
reported  an  accurate  and  very  neat  account. 

"  Proficiency,"  replied  the  Captain,  "  proficiency.  Con- 
siderable tact.  Mr.  Kilmarnok,"  —  he  addressed  the 
head-stock  man,  —  "let  this  young  man  take  your  place 
a  moment." 

The  head-stock  was  the  controlling  and  responsible  end 
of  a  stick  of  timber  on  the  works,  and  the  head-stock  man 
superintended  the  whole  operation  of  sawing ;  so  tliat  Rich- 
ard was  put  to  a  critical  task. 

"  He  sights  well,"  said  the  Captain.  "  He  handles  the 
bar  as  if  he  had  seen  one  before.  He  must  have  prac- 
tised. Merit,  merit,  certainly.  Talent  in  his  bail-dog  ;  his 
drop-down-feed,  Mr.  Munk,  shines.  It  shines,  as  has  been 
justly  observed,  like  a  hole  in  a  blanket." 

Richard  stood  in  perspiration  and  trepidation.  The 
severity  of  the  eye  that  followed  his  movements  was  fright- 
ful. 

Trembling  and  confused,  when  the  log  was  run  through, 
in  attempting  to  stop  the  saw,  he  seized  the  "  start,"  or 
handle  of  the  lever  that  belonged  to  a  "cutting-ofF"  saw, 
near  by,  and   set  that  going.      The  Captain  was  in  an 


THE    governor's    FAMILY.  41 

uproar ;  Mr.  Kilmarnok  stepped  forward,  and  corrected  the 
mistake. 

"  Lame,"  ejaculated  the  Captain,  "  and  most  unfortunate. 
What  a  pity !  A  most  shuperior  piece  of  work  spoilt  hy 
these  blotches  !  I  am  sorry  for  him.  Let  him  attempt  the 
tail-stock.  No,  no ;  he  will  only  disgrace  himself.  I  have 
no  interest  in  this  matter,  Mr.  Munk.  I  am  only  anxious 
that  our  young  men  should  honor  themselves  and  the  cause. 
But  they  should  confine  themselves  to  what  they  can  do 
well.  Head-stock  is  nice  business  ;  and  if  he  perseveres,  we 
shall  have  the  happiness  of  meeting  him  there,  some  time  or 
another.  Let  him  show  his  butting.  I  have  no  doubt  he 
is  a  master  there." 

Richard  took  an  axe,  and  very  neatly  proceeded  to  "  butt" 
a  log ;  that  is,  cut  the  end  of  it  square  off. 

"  A  well-directed  blow.  A  handsome  calf.  The  swing 
of  his  axe  is  pleasing,  —  it  is  positively  luxuriating ;  as  Dr. 
Broadwell  observed,  the  little  hills  of  feeling  within  us  clap 
their  hands."     So  the  Captain  echoed -the  strokes. 

Richard  took  breath  and  courage.  The  men  in  the  mill 
were  looking  at  him,  and  he  did  not  know  but  he  should  be 
degraded  before  them  ;  but  these  encouraging  words  of  the 
Captain  revived  him.  The  Captain's  teeth  glistened  with 
delight,  and  his  arms  shook  applause. 

"  Do  you  think  you  shall  be  able  to  give  me  work  ? " 
asked  Richard,  quite  hopefully. 

"  Give  you  work  ?  "  responded  the  captain,  very  archly. 
"  We  pay  for  our  work.  But  it  is  necessary  to  begin  small ; 
you  see  that  it  is.  In  the  little  and  common  matter  of 
chopping,  you  do  well.  But,  alas !  how  many  choppers 
there  are  !     W^hy,  everybody  can  chop." 

"  Then  you  do  not  want  me,"  added  Richard. 

"  I  did  not  say  that.  I  only  wish  you  to  know  your  own 
4# 


42  RICHARD    EDNEY   AND 

powers.  I  wish  you  not  to  adventure  too  much.  This  is 
a  great  field.  You  see  Mr.  Kihiiarnok ;  you  think  you  can 
do  as  well  as  he  does.  It  seems  only  a  few  steps  there. 
It  is  a  great  ways  from  the  butt  to  the  head-stock.  How 
would  he  do  in  the  slip,  Mr.  Munk  ?  " 

"  You  can  try  him,"  replied  the  latter. 

Richard,  armed  with  a  picaroon,  descended  the  slip,  some 
thirty  feet,  to  the  basin,  where  the  logs  lay  in  the  Avater 
ready  to  be  drawn  in,  and  by  aid  of  the  tooth  of  the  mill- 
chain  dog,  to  be  hauled  to  the  bed  of  the  mill.  Richard, 
standing  on  one  log,  and  aiming  a  blow  at  another,  lost  his 
balance  and  slipped  into  the  water.  Recovering  himself,  he 
pushed  still  more  energetically  the  experiment  on  which  he 
was  sent. 

"  Tut,  tut  I  "  so  the  Captain  expressed  his  disappointment 
to  Munk.  "  That  it  should  have  happened  !  I  feel  for  the 
young  man.  You  recollect,  Mr.  Munk,  at  the  lecture  before 
the  Mechanics'  Association  we  had  explained  to  us  the 
difference  between  genius  and  doing.  Now,  your  brother- 
in-law  can  do  many  things  ;  I  acknowledge  that,  —  no  man 
can  deny  that ;  but  has  he  genius  ?  I  ask  you.  He  can  do, 
and  do  well,  if  he  will  only  keep  to  his  sphere.  He  has 
some  axe-genius,  perhaps ;  but  he  fails  on  the  picaroon,  — 
utterly  fails.  He  fails  on  the  head-stock.  He  may  have 
some  slight  picaroon  doing.  He  lacks  self-oblivimy,  and 
is  too  tiercy ;  not  enough  of  the  barrel  and  the  tub,  Mr. 
Munk.  Ambition  !  oh,  what  a  foe  !  I  am  sorry  you  spoke 
to  me." 

"We  applied  at  several  saws,"  answered  Munk,  "and 
they  were  full." 

Meanwhile  Richard  was  doing  up  his  job  very  hand- 
somely ;  and  his  brother  called  the  Captain's  attention  to  the 
fact. 


THE    GOVEKNOR's    FAMILY.  43 

Captain  Creamer  smiled, — he  loved  to  smile ;  but  with  an 
air  of  melancholy. 

"  He  can  improve  ;  I  never  questioned  his  capacity."  The 
Captain  shook  his  head,  as  if,  while  affirming  so  much,  there 
w^ere  still  many  things  he  must  deny. 

Richard  reiippeared  on  the  mill-bed,  with  a  look  of  sus- 
pense. 

The  conversation  that  ensued  will  be  better  understood  by 
a  tabular  word  or  two.  The  Saw-mills  were  the  property 
of  companies,  or  corporations ;  and  the  saws  were  let,  and 
sometimes  under-let.  To  each  saw  belonged,  ordinarily,  a 
"  gang  "  of  three  men,  both  for  the  day  and  the  night ;  six 
in  all.  These  were  the  head-stock  man,  the  tail-stock  nian, 
and  a  sort  of  servant  of  the  whole,  who  tended  the  slip,  and 
did  the  butting,  and  helped  wherever  he  was  called.  Five 
men  could  manage  two  saws.  Captain  Creamer  rented  two; 
and,  of  course,  in  his  double  gang,  employed  ten  men.  This 
for  the  main  work  of  the  mill.  There  was  a  collateral  busi- 
ness, as  making  shingles,  laths,  clapboards,  which  used  up 
the  slabs  and  refuse  timber;  and  which  also  required  a  cut- 
ting-ofF  saw.  These  operations  employed  several  hands. 
If  we  reckon  six  principal  saws  to  each  mill,  we  shall  have 
an  aggregate  of  one  or  two  hundred  men  in  each ;  or^e  half 
of  whom  were  in  constant  activity,  day  and  night.  The 
subordinate  branches  were  carried  on  below,  under  the 
"  bed,"  or  main  floor  of  the  mill,  near  the  wheel-pit. 

"  Has  your  brother  worked  at  shingles  ? "  asked  Captain 
Creamer. 

"  He  has,"  replied  Munk ;  "  but  I  think  he  would  not  care 
to  go  down  there." 

"  Natural,  natural,"  answered  the  Captain.  "  As  has 
justly  been  observed,  we  cannot  die  but  once  ;  and,  Mr. 
Munk,  allow  me  to  say  it,  we  do  not  like  to.     But,  Mr. 


44  RICHARD   EDNEY    AND 

Munlv,  how  can  one  succeed  without  humility  ?  without 
beginning  low,  —  as  Dr.  Broadwell  observes,  taking  one's 
place  in  the  dust  ?  Not  be  a  shingle-sticker !  Why,  the 
Kilmarnoks,  the  Gouches,  were  all  shingle-stickers." 

"  I  had  better  return  home,"  said  Richard. 

"  Do  not  deem  me  unkind,"  responded  the  Captain. 
"  Young  men  do  not  appreciate  the  necessity  of  industry, 
and  acquaintance  with  detail.  I  fear  me,  I  really  fear,  you 
are  ambitious.  Odious  sin  that,  as  the  poet  observes,  winds 
like  a  hejus  snake  about  the  extremities  !  You  see  we  are 
tolerably  full  on  the  bed  ;  there  is  hardly  room  for  a  flea. 
But,  ]\Ir.  Edney,  it  is  not  our  interest,  but  the  interest  of  our 
young  men,  which  moves  me  to  speak." 

"  You  have  no  opening  here,"  said  Richard,  decisively. 

"  I  would  do  anything  for  you  ;  I  would,  for  your  respected 
brother's  sake.  I  know  how  friends  feel.  Nights  —  let  me 
see.     Mr.  Kilmarnok,  how  is  Clover?" 

"  No  better,  sir,"  answered  the  man. 

"  Clover  is  sick.  Yes,  there  is  Clover's  night.  He  has 
tended  the  slip ;  he  is  a  man  of  rare  qualities,  and  can  turn 
his  hand  to  most  anything.  What  would  you  say  to  his 
chance  for  a  few  days  ?" 

"  I  can  do  anything,"  replied  Richard. 

"  Bless  me  —  that  is  it.     What  a  spirit ! " 

"What  M'ages  can  you  afford?" 

"  We  make  no  account  of  such  things.  We  are  only 
happy  to  bring  the  boys  forward  —  to  be  the  instrument  of 
leading  them  to  greatness.  It  is  worth  a  world  to  us  to  see 
a  head-stock  man,  and  say,  we  carried  that  man  forwards. 
Howd,  the  inventor  of  the  patent  wheel,  was  a  shingle- 
sticker.  I  suppose  Howd  is  really  the  greatest  man  in  the 
world.  Pierson,  the  improver  of  the  shingle  machine,  has 
claims,  and  many  fine  points,  and  is  sometimes  named ;  but, 


THE    governor's    FAMILY.  45 

to  use  the  expression,  he  cannot  hold  a  candle  to  Howd.  To 
be  associated  with  Howd  in  any  way,  even  in  the  meanest 
capacity,  might  well  fire  the  heart  of  a  young  man.  He 
mounted  from  the  wheel-pit  to  the  bed,  and  went  through 
the  slip  to  glory  !  " 

"  Would  you  name  a  sum?"  inquired  Richard. 

"  I  will  be  frank  with  you,"  replied  the  Captain,  "  and 
even  lay  bare  our  whole  affairs.  Laths  feed  themselves,  but 
we  find  them  ;  and  so  do  shingles ;  but,  in  times  like  these, 
they  are  glad  to  pay  us  a  premium  for  being  —  for  the  mere 
chance  of  being.     What  would  you  say  to  that?" 

Richard  shook  his  head. 

"  Ah  !  "  sighed  the  Captain,  "  't  is  Labor  against  Capital. 
Labor  is  ravenous  ;  it  scratches  Capital,  as  the  poets  say,  like 
a  fowl  on  a  danghill.  But  we  are  generous ;  Green  Mill  is 
generous ;  it  finds,  and  repairs,  and  makes  its  own  insur- 
ance ;  it  does  everything,  and  gives  all  the  profits  to  labor. 
We  will  offer  you  eighteen  dollars  a  month,  board  yourself; 
Green  Mill  does  not  board.  Or,  you  may  form  a  gang,  and 
take  the  saw.  We  allow  two  dollars  a  thousand,  piled  and 
stuck;  oil  and  light  yourself,  of  course;  you  understand 
that." 

"I  will  go  by  the  month,"  said  Richard. 

So  he  found  employment  for  a  few  weeks,  at  least ;  he 
would  work  nine  hours  every  night ;  and  have  fifteen  out 
of  the  twenty-four,  wherein  to  sleep,  and  do  what  else  he 
liked. 


CHAPTER    IV. 

KICHARD     AT     THE      MILL. 

It  was  an  extreme  night,  and  the  mercury  fell  to  a 
great  depth  before  morning.  One  man,  who  raised  the 
largest  cucumbers,  and  had  the  most  satisfactory  children, 
and  drove  the  prettiest  carryall,  said  his  thermometer,  at 
thirty-eight  minutes  after  seven,  stood  at  five  and  three- 
quarters  below  zero.  At  any  rate,  it  was  cold  enough  ;  and 
Richard  felt  it,  when  he  left  the  house,  after  supper.  Its 
first  onset  was  suffocating,  like  a  simoom ;  then  it  began  to 
cut,  and  sting,  and  flay,  as  if  it  would  not  only  entrap  but 
torture  its  victim.  A  delicate,  thin,  violet  vapor,  coming 
from  we  know  not  where,  had  clearly  mistaken  the  time  of 
the  year,  like  birds  arriving  too  early  from  a  sunnier  clime ; 
benumbed  and  bewildered  by  the  cold,  it  lay  on  the  western 
hills,  still,  calm,  hard,  and  dry.  The  sky  was  very  clear, 
as  if  the  cold  had  driven  out  of  it  all  those  soft  clouds,  and 
gentle  zephyrs,  and  spiritual  mists,  on  which  our  better  feel- 
ings float  through  the  universe,  and  by  which  our  souls  are 
indefinitely  expanded,  and  our  sjTnpathies  connected  with 
unseen  orders  of  beings,  and  left  it  the  impersonation  of 
intellect,  —  sheer,  naked  intellect,  —  intellect  without  love, 
without  tenderness;  awful,  dismal  intellect,  in  which  the 
stars  were  so  many  iron,  piercing,  excruciating  eyes  —  eyes 
which  one  did  not  wish  to  look  at,  but  ducked  his  head,  and 
hurried  on.  Or,  if  one  could  stand  it,  —  if  his  fancy  would 
have  its  way,  in  spite  of  the  cold,  —  he  would  see  the  windows 
of  heaven  covered  with  frost,  and  the  stars  so  many  little 


RICHARD   EDNEY,    ETC.  47 

cr)'stalline  sparkling  points;  and  if  he  looked  closely  at 
Sirius,  he  would  inevitably  conclude  it  had  been  snowing 
there  all  winter;  and  the  icy,  glittering  radiance  of  that  star 
he  would  attribute  to  the  reflection  of  interminable  hollows, 
and  mountains  of  snow. 

There  were  no  loafers  about  the  mill  to-night ;  and  no  boys 
skating  on  the  river,  with  their  cheerful  fires,  and  the  bell- 
like ringing  of  their  merry  voices.  The  great  doors  on  the 
sides  of  the  mill,  that  open  on  horizontal  hinges,  and  are 
hoisted  by  ropes,  were  dropped.  The  wind  drifted  freely 
through  the  building;  and  the  large,  cylindrical,  red-hot 
stoves,  seemed  to  be  an  invitation  to  it  to  come  in.  Nor  was 
it  ceremonious,  or  hardly  civil ;  it  crowded  about  the  stoves, 
and  seemed  determined  that  nobody  else  should  have  a 
place ;  and  with  a  selfishness  which  nothing  human  ever 
paralleled,  as  soon  as  one  windy  troop  got  warm,  it  made 
way  for  another,  and  so  left  no  chance  at  all  for  the  work- 
men. Green  Mill  was  a  large  one,  —  two  hundred  feet  long, 
and  fifty  wide ;  and  all  the  saws  were  running ;  not  that 
they  always  ran  in  winter,  but  these  Avere  pressing  times. 
It  was  one  immense  hall,  where  the  saws  were,  mounting  to 
the  ridge-pole,  and  broken  only  by  the  tie-beams,  and  the 
frames  in  which  the  saws  moved ;  and  all  the  men  might  be 
seen,  and  their  varied  operations  inspected,  at  a  glance.  It 
was  a  noisy,  busy  scene.  Lamps  hung  on  the  fender-posts 
—  lamps  shaped  like  a  coflTee-pot,  with  a  heavy  coil  of  wick- 
ing  in  the  spout,  and  producing  so  large  a  flame  the  wind 
could  not  blow  it  out ;  and  the  more  it  was  attempted  to  be 
put  down,  the  brighter  it  burned.  But  the  lamp  was  pro- 
voking ;  it  affected  great  nonchalance ;  it  made  feints  of 
being  beaten ;  it  fell  over  from  side  to  side ;  it  treated  the 
wind  as  a  rope-dancer  might  treat  his  worst  enemy,  by  caper- 
ing on  a  slack  wire,  and  jingling  a  tambourine  in  his  face ; 


48  EICHAUD   EDXEY   AND 

it  was  as  insulting  as  a  runaway  monkey,  that  makes 
grimaces  at  his  master  from  a  chimney-top. 

On  one  bed  the  men  were  butting ;  on  another,  hauling 
up  the  slip ;  on  a  third,  dividing  the  logs  by  cross-cut  saws ; 
the  creak  of  files,  and  the  clink  of  iron  bars,  could  be  heard. 
The  up-and-down  saws  sweltered,  trembled,  gnashed,  hissed, 
as  they  made  their  way  through  the  huge  trunks  before 
them.  There  was  the  piteous  shriek  of  the  cutting-ofT  saw, 
and  the  unearthly  rumbling  of  the  wheels  in  the  pit  below. 
The  rag-wheels  patiently  ticked,  as  it  were  time-keepers 
of  the  whole  concern.  The  entire  building,  ponderous  as 
were  its  beams  and  firm  its  foundation,  seemed  to  throb  and 
reel. 

Richard  was  in  a  strange  place,  and  among  strange  men, 
though  he  was  at  home  in  the  business.  There  was  not 
much  talking,  nor  a  very  good  opportunity  for  making 
acquaintance.  The  men  were  silent  in  the  midst  of  the 
powerful  agencies  of  nature  and  art ;  they  were  the  silent 
Mind  that  wrought  through  these  agencies. 

Of  the  persons  with  whom  Richard  was  associated,  one, 
Mr.  Gouch,  the  boss  of  the  gang,  was  a  middle-aged,  middle- 
sized  man,  with  a  heavy  face  and  a  dull  eye.  He  wore  a 
white  fur  hat,  of  a  very  old  fashion,  —  so  old,  indeed,  it  would 
be  difficult  to  say  when  it  was  in  fashion,  —  and  which  looked 
as  if  it  had  come  down  through  all  the  fashions,  and  each 
of  them  had  had  a  kick  at  it.  He  had  on  an  antique  sur- 
tout,  with  a  very  high  waist,  and  an  immense  collar,  riding 
the  waist,  as  if  it  were  the  porter  of  a  woollen  factory. 
The  lips  of  Mr.  Gouch  were  large  and  rough,  and  kept  up 
a  constant  twitching,  as  if  affected  with  the  shaking  palsy. 
Not  that  he  was  a  great  talker;  only  his  lips  stirred,  some- 
what vacantly,  somewhat  timorously.  Before  he  spoke,  his 
lips  moved,  as  it  were  getting  ready  for  that  effort ;  after  he 


THE    governor's    FAMILY.  49 

had  spoken,  his  lips  moved,  as  if  the  momentum  of  the  effort 
did  not  immediately  subside.  Along  with  setting  the  gauge 
and  minding  the  carry-back,  another  thing  occupied  a  deal 
of  his  attention.  This  was  the  orders  the  mill  had  received, 
and  which  were  nailed  to  the  fender-post.  Why  did  he 
dodge  so  around  the  corner  of  this  post,  and  look  at  the 
schedule  so  often  ?  Why  did  he  point  at  it  with  his  crow- 
bar ?  Why  did  his  lips  wag  at  such  a  rate,  and  all  to  himself? 
WJiy  did  he,  from  running  the  crow-bar  over  the  list,  like 
an  overgrown  lubber  of  a  schoolboy,  who  uses  his  finger  to 
fescue  his  eye  from  line  to  line, — why  did  he  then  jerk  it 
towards  his  fellow-laborer,  whose  back  was  turned  ?  Rich- 
ard saw  this  farce,  and  was  curious  about  it. 

This  other  man  seemed  wholly  indifferent  to  what  was 
passing ;  he  looked,  indeed,  more  like  a  beast,  who  could 
not  be  affected  by  human  interests,  than  anything  else.  He 
was  short,  and  thick,  and  dark.  His  small  cap,  matted  to 
his  head,  with  its  few  filaments  of  fur,  and  its  larger  bare 
spots,  did  not  look  like  a  cap,  but  made  him  look  as  if  he 
had  a  scrubby,  stinted  growth  of  hair.  Running  your  eye 
down  his  person,  you  would  imagine  that  his  hair,  deserting 
his  scalp,  had  reappeared  under  his  chin,  and  around  his 
neck ;  for  here  it  grew  thick,  bushy,  luxuriant.  He  had  no 
neck,  apparently,  but  only  a  bed  of  hair,  in  which  his  head 
lay.  He  was  not  deformed,  but  he  seemed  to  have  grown, 
or  been  socketed,  into  himself;  his  hair  grew  into  his  head, 
his  head  into  his  neck,  his  neck  into  his  shoulders,  and  his 
shoulders  into  his  trunk.  He  wore  a  short  frock,  the  ends 
of  which  were  tied  in  a  large  knot  on  his  back,  as  if  it  had 
something  to  do  in  keeping  in  place  this  singular  structure 
that  he  was.  His  mouth,  except  in  a  strong  light,  was 
invisible ;  and  then  it  opened  and  shut  spasmodically,  like  a 
toad's;  and  then  no  teeth  were  seen,  but  a  slight  vacuum, 
5 


50  KICHAED   EDNEY   A^^D 

filled  with  indistinguishable  shapes  ;  as  one  gets  a  glimpse 
through  the  fence  at  the  charred  stumps  of  new-burnt 
ground.  Smoking  was  not  allowed  in  the  mill ;  but  this 
man  had  a  pipe  in  his  mouth,  whether  he  smoked  or  not. 
He  would  sometimes  smoke  of  a  winter  night.  This  pipe, 
like  the  rest  of  him,  had  grown  in,  till  there  was  nothing 
but  the  black  bowl  left.  Ever  in  his  mouth,  it  seemed  to  be 
a  part  of  his  organism ;  and  he  dipped  his  finger  into  the 
bowl  as  frequently  when  it  was  empty  as  when  it  was  full. 
The  name  of  this  man  was  Silver. 

Mr.  Gouch,  we  have  said,  looked  at  Silver;  but  Silver  did 
not  mind  it.  Then  Mr.  Gouch  read  again  the  orders  : 
"  While,  4,  hemlock  16,  7x9.  Smith,  6,  gray  birch,  10, 
3X12,  Clover  9,  plates,  hemlock,  22,  6x8.  Clover,  joist, 
Clover,  sills,  Clover,  furring."  These  things,  from  silently 
transcribing  with  his  lips,  he  went  on  to  articulating  more 
distinctly,  and  finally  spoke  out  quite  loud.  As  he  did  so, 
he  turned  his  face  to  Silver;  and  then,  as  it  were,  having 
caught  the  words  on  the  end  of  his  bar,  he  held  that  out  for 
Silver  to  read ;  but  Silver  neither  heard  nor  read. 

During  an  interi'al  when  Silver  was  taking  away  the 
boards  on  one  side  of  the  carriage,  and  Mr.  Gouch  and 
Richard  were  at  work  Avith  a  cross-cut  saw  on  the  other, 
Mr.  Gouch  said,  "  He  '11  get  it !  he  '11  sweat  I  —  he  's  gone  !" 

"  Who  '11  get  it  ?  "  asked  Richard. 

"He,"  replied  Mr.  Gouch,  and  thrust  his  head  backwards 
towards  Silver. 

"Get  what?" 

"  I  tell  you,  Clover  '11  build  I "  As  he  said  this,  he  pushed 
the  saw  forwards,  and  leaned  forwards  himself,  as  if  he 
were  earnest  that  the  communication  should  reach  Richard. 
"  Don't  start  so  I  "  he  said  ;  "  you  are  not  concerned ;  you 
have  just  come ;  you  need  n't  be  frightened."    Now,  Richard 


THE    governor's    FAMILY.  51 

could  not  conveniently  help  starting,  since  he  held  one  end 
of  the  saw,  and  must  needs  retreat  as  the  other  advanced. 
Still  Mr.  Gouch  kept  operating  the  instrument,  and  endeav- 
oring to  impress  certain  truths  on  Eichard.  The  first  he 
did  mechanically  and  skilfully;  as  to  the  last,  he  was  in 
an  absent  state  of  mind,  and  continually  blundered  in  the 
attempt  to  reconcile  the  ideal  with  the  actual.  "  Don't  be 
frightened,"  he  said,  as  he  again  inclined  towards  Richard, 
who  was  again  obliged  to  fall  back,  "  I  tell  you,  Clover  '11 
build ;  and  he  '11  get  it,"  writhing  towards  Silver,  "  and  we 
shall  all  get  it !  Plates,  joist,  sills  and  furring,  —  yes, 
furring,  —  that  settles  it,  that  does  the  business.  You  are 
not  alarmed,  I  hope  ?  " 

"  Why  should  I  be  ? "  replied  Richard,  laughing.  "  More 
work,  more  to  do." 

"  Yes,  more  work ;  but  how  he  Avill  feel !  how  he  will 
feel!" 

"  Capt.  Creamer  told  me  Clover  was  sick." 

"  Clover  sick !  The  Captain  done  for,  too  !  The  Captain 
slabbed  off,  thrown  among  the  refiige,  flung  into  the  river, 
like  so  much  edging.  And  all  through  Clover.  Clover 
sick !  He  is  too  strong  to  be  sick.  He  would  die  before  he 
would  be  sick." 

"  He  may  be  sick,  and  die  too,"  observed  Richard. 

"He  can't  die,"  returned  Mr.  Gouch;  "you  can't  kill 
him.  You  might  as  well  smite  that  saw  with  your  fist ; 
you  might  as  well  put  a  trig  under  the  dam  and  stop  it, 
as  to  practise  on  him." 

They  went  to  the  stove  for  their  lunch ;  and  as  they  went, 
Mr.  Gouch  still  muttered,  "  The  furring  fixes  it ;  it  will  be  a 
house.     He  '11  get  it;  Clover  '11  build." 

Silver  said  nothing,  and  Mr.  Gouch  said  more,  as  if  he 
would  teaze  Silver.     In  an  instant,  Silver  seized  the  cant- 


52  RICHARD    EDNEY    AND 

doo-,  and  aimed  at  the  head-stock  man.  Richard  sprang 
between  them,  and  Mr.  Gouch  fell  backward  over  a  log. 
Mr.  Gouch  laughed,  and  Silver  snapped  his  lips  together  in 
a  way  that  was  intended  to  imply  humor ;  and  Richard, 
seeing  that  the  demonstration  was  only  a  naerry  one,  very 
quietly  went  to  wooding  up  the  stove.  Mr.  Gouch  touched 
his  fingers  on  the  stove,  to  see  how  hot  it  was ;  then  he 
applied  them  again,  to  see  the  hissing  and  crackling; 
and  he  at  last  got  up  a  little  cannonade,  which  he  let  off 
against  Silver.  Silver  was  not  harmed,  or  cowarded.  He 
knocked  the  ashes  from  his  pipe,  sliced  a  new  charge  of 
tobacco,  ground  it  in  the  hollow  of  his  hand,  filled  his  pipe, 
and  stooped  to  light  it  at  the  mouth  of  the  stove.  Mr.  Gouch 
suffered  quite  a  drop  of  water  to  explode  close  to  Silver's 
ear,  saying,  "  Have  n't  you  got  it  ?  Won't  Clover  build  ?  " 
Silver  drew  back,  and  groaned.  He  sat  on  the  floor,  and 
groaned.  He  made  a  few  empty  passes  at  the  coals  with 
his  pipe,  and  thrust  it,  unlighted,  into  his  lips,  and  groaned. 

"  He  has  got  it !  "  said  Mr.  Gouch.  "  Did  'nt  I  tell  you 
he  would  get  it  ?  Such  quantities  of  furring !  O,  what  a 
nice  little  house,  and  what  a  nice  little  bed-room,  and  what 
nice  fLxings ! " 

Silver  took  a  pine  stick  and  whittled  it,  sharpening  and 
smoothing  it.  He  then  tried  the  point  of  it  on  the  palm  of 
his  hand  ;  then  he  pricked  his  cheek  with  it ;  then  he  made 
as  if  he  would  stab  the  stove  and  the  saw. 

"  There  will  be  family  ways  and  family  doings,"  contin- 
ued Mr.  Gouch,  addressing  Richard,  who  was  quietly  con- 
suming his  midnight  meal ;  "  and  fires  kindled  where  it  is 
now  bleak  cold,  and  tables  set  for  people  that  never  ate 
together,  and  doors  opening  on  new  scenes  and  new  opera- 
tions. There  will  be  another  stopping-place  along  the  street, 
and  another  yard  to  set  flowers  in ;    and  by  and  by  there 


THE    GOVEKNOR's    FAMILY.  53 

will  be  children,  and  little  ones  will  climb  on  their  father's 
knee,  and  that  father  will  be  Clover ;  and  little  ones  for  the 
mother  to  put  to  sleep,  and  that  mother  will  be " 

Silver  shrieked  not  out,  but  inside,  and  only  a  smothered 
explosion  was  heard.  He  thrust  his  stick  wildly  into  the 
air. 

"  Don't  do  that !  "  said  Mr.  Gouch  ;  "  don't  hurt  Clover; 
don't  attempt  Clover ;  don't  do  anything  to  him  !  " 

"  It  is  not  that,"  rejoined  Silver ;   "  it 's  myself." 

He  again  tried  to  light  his  pipe,  and  now  he  was  success- 
ful ;  and  he  sucked  and  whiffed,  as  if  he  would  evaporate 
his  sorrows,  thoughts,  and  whole  being,  in  the  smoke. 

"Clover '11  build,  and  it  is  your  treat,"  said  the  head- 
stock  man ;  "  and  you  need  not  take  it  so  hardly  ;  a  couple 
of  dimes  will  hardly  be  missed." 

Sih'er  blew  the  smoke  from  him,  as  much  as  to  say, 
"  That  is  nothing;  I  do  not  care  for  that."  He  spi'ang  up 
with  an  air  which  seemed  to  add,  "  Bring  on  the  boys  !  I 
am  ready  to  treat." 

The  two  men  from  the  other  saw  came  towards  the  stove. 
One  of  them  advanced  in  a  jaunty,  tambourine  sort  of  way, 
appearing  to  be  playing  on  an  invisible  instrument  of  that 
kind  with  his  elbow  and  knuckles,  and  shuffling  to  the  tune 
with  his  feet.  A  red  handkerchief  was  tied  flauntingly  on 
his  head,  and  his  waist  was  buttoned  with  a  leathern  strap. 
He  was  lively  and  talkative,  and  his  name  was  Philemon 
Sweetlj\  "Pleasantly  cold,  Mr.  Gouch,"  said  he;  "just 
enough  to  make  a  stove,  ordinarily  so  dull,  a  very  agreeable 
companion." 

"An  Indian  could  n't  stand  it,"  replied  Mr.  Gouch,  rather 
solemnly;  "a  frog  would  freeze,  a  barn  would  be  out  of  its 
element." 

"  I  hope,"  rejoined  Philemon,  "  the  cold  will  bear  kind  of 
5# 


54  RICHARD    EDNEY   ANT> 

Strong  on  the  Captain ;  just  hold  him  down  softly,  freeze 
him  gently,  so  he  will  not  feel  it,  and  let  Helskill  out.  It  is 
a  precious  night  for  Helskill ;  he  deserves  such  a  night,  now 
and  then." 

"  How  is  Clover,  to-day  ? "  asked  Ezra  Bess,  the  fourth 
man. 

"  Better,"  replied  I\Ir.  Gouch  ;  "  and  Silver  will  be  gen- 
erous, —  all  gold,  perhaps." 

"  That  for  Clover,"  added  Philemon,  heaving  the  hand- 
spike across  the  mill-bed ;  "  Helskill  is  wanted  just  now." 

At  this  instant,  a  man  was  seen  entering  the  mill,  and 
making  his  way  stealthily  through  the  shadows,  as  if  he 
were  afraid  he  might  tread  on  them.  And  when  a  roister- 
ing lamp  flared  in  his  face,  he  started,  like  a  very  polite  man 
who  had  intruded  too  suddenly  upon  the  light.  He  had  on 
his  arm  a  basket,  over  which  he  exercised  incessant  watch- 
fulness, like  a  mother  bringing  her  daughter  into  company. 
He  had  a  broad,  dark  face,  and  eyebrows  to  match,  aftd 
black  eyes ;  but  a  timid  look,  —  a  remarkably  timid,  and 
almost  slippery  look ;  and  a  stooping  gait,  like  one  who  has 
the  misfortune  to  be  continually  seeing  obstacles  in  his  path. 
He  signalized  his  progress,  also,  by  a  cough,  —  a  small,  hack- 
ing cough,  —  as  a  modest  token  of  admonition  to  any  one 
against  whom  he  might  come  in  the  dark. 

The  approach  of  this  man  was  regarded  with  interest  by 
the  gang. 

"  The  Friend  of  the  People  is  assiduous  and  devoted  as 
ever,"  said  Philemon,  affecting  a  bow  to  the  new-comer. 
"  Shall  I  have  the  honor  of  introducing  to  you,  Richard,  Mr. 
Helskill,  the  Friend  of  the  People  ? " 

"  I  am  the  Friend  of  the  People,"  replied  the  other,  evi- 
dently brightening  up  and  re-collecting  his  courage,  in  the 
cordiality  with  which  he  was  received ;  "  I  look  after  the 


THE   governor's   FAMILY.  55 

public  good :  I  vote  for  it  at  the  polls ;  I  canvass  for  it 
before  election;  I  harness  my  horse,  and  go  in  pursuit  of  it; 
I  bleed  for  it,  —  yes,  I  do,  —  my  purse  bleeds,  and  my  heart 
bleeds,  to  see  how  it  is  abused  ;  I  attend  to  it,  in  my  own 
little  way,  at  Quiet  Arbor ;  "  —  he  was  still  timid,  and  cast 
his  eyes  from  side  to  side,  but  he  waxed  bolder  as  he  went 
on: — "I  am  an  advocate  of  the  people:  I  defend  their 
rights ;  I  teach  them  their  independence ;  I  stand  between 
them  and  monopoly ;  I  take  the  brunt  of  oppression ;  I  be- 
lieve that  men  are  to  be  trusted,  —  that  they  ^ai^e  discretion." 

"  Desput  cold !  "  said  Philemon,  who,  using  the  liberty 
v/hich  the  timid  man  scattered  broadcast  around  him,  lifted 
the  cover  of  the  basket,  and  took  from  it  a  brace  of  bottles 
and  glasses  ;  —  "  but  you  are  the  chap  for  it.  You  must 
have  been  born  in  a  bog,  and  nussed  on  cucumber  juice. 
That  was  economical.  When  you  was  eight  years  old,  your 
father  sent  you  out  barefoot  in  winter  to  catch  titmice  for 
poor  people's  breakfast.  So  you  learned  benevolence.  A 
thermometer  would  have  no  effect  on  you;  the  mercury 
might  plump  down  into  the  bottom  andfreeze, — you  would  n't 
mind  it ;  you  would  buzz  around  your  little  Arbor,  as  chirk 
and  bobbish  as  a  fly  in  spring-time.  And  how,  when  it 
grew  late,  and  your  friends  became  tired  and  sleepy,  and 
wanted  to  lie  down,  you  would  put  them  out  of  doors,  using 
a  little  force,  just  to  teach  them  self-denial !  Why,  you  are 
equal  to  Captain  Creamer,  —  you  are  the  Captain !  Has  n't 
your  wife  a  receipt  for  cold  weather  ?  You  might  send  it 
South,  and  they  could  get  up  a  little  ice  for  their  juleps,  and 
kill  off  the  yellow  fever,  now  and  then.  You  would  n't  do 
for  a  Methodist  church,  just  now.  You  might  answer  for 
some  other  in  town  ;  they  could  set  you  up  cheap,  and  you 
could  do  so  much  good !    You  love  to  do  good,  don't  you  ? " 

Men  from  all  parts  of  the  mill,  having  a  respite  from 


56  RICHARD    F.DNEY    AND 

their  work,  collected  around  Mr.  Helskill,  who  seemed  to  be 
quite  a  centre  of  attraction. 

"  I  knew  he  would  come,"  said  Mr.  Merlew,  head-stock 
man  of  saw  No.  5,  a  burly,  hulchy  looking  man ;  "  he 
sticks  to  his  word  like  a  bail-dog  to  a  log.  He  does  n't  mind 
the  coldest  night,  any  more  than  No.  5  does  the  knots  of 
white  hemlock." 

"  No.  5,  No.  5,"  said  Philemon,  who  was  head-stock  man 
of  No.  2,  "  will  want  a  little  oiling ;  will  be  very  thankful  to 
the  Friend  of  the  People  for  a  little  help ;  will  rejoice  in  the 
opportune  kindness  of  that  man,  or  I  am  mistaken." 

The  Friend  of  the  People  coughed,  blushed,  and  looked 
down.  So  embarrassed  was  he  by  these  compliments,  he 
did  not  perceive  that  his  glasses  had  escaped,  and  his  bot- 
tles were  being  emptied, while  the  men  were  secretly  trying 
the  quality  of  his  wares. 

Mr.  Gouch,  meanwhile,  with  a  medley  of  playfulness  and 
timorousness,  simplicity  and  cunning,  slid  to  the  door  of 
the  mill  and  looked  out ;  hopped  over  the  lumbered  floor 
back  again,  and  slapped  the  stove  with  his  wet  fingers,  chat- 
tering to  himself,  "  The  Captain  won't  come ;  he  can't  come 
to-night.  Clover  ivill  build  ;  Silver  '11  treat ;  he  won't  be 
happy,  if  he  does  n't,"  Silver  muddled  with  his  pipe  among 
the  ashes.     Richard  leisurely  hacked  the  end  of  a  log. 

"  The  honor  is  Silver's  to-night,"  said  Philemon  to 
Richard,  holding  a  glass  in  his  hand,  "  It  is  his  to  give 
merit  an  opportunity  to  distinguish  itself,  and  to  open  to  the 
Friend  of  the  People  a  sphere  of  action.  This  ordinarily 
falls  to  the  new  comer ;  it  should  have  been  yours,  as  you 
are  in  that  capacity ;  but  it  is  Silver's  to-night." 

"  I  am  truly  obliged  to  you,  Silver,"  said  Mr.  Helskill, 
making  an  effort  to  show  his  teeth,  as  if  there  resided  in 
them  a  particularly  pleasing  and  grateful  expression,  which 


THE   governor's   FAMILY.  57 

he  was  anxious  to  communicate ;  "  you  must  be  a  happy- 
man." 

Silver  hurled  a  chip  at  the  timid  man's  head,  which  he 
dodged,  but  manifested  no  indignation  thereat.  "Don't 
grin  at  me  ! "  Silver  added,  very  groutily. 

"I  must  have  declined  the  honor,"  replied  Richard  to 
Philemon  ;  "  and  I  think  Silver  has  no  satisfaction  in  doing 
it." 

"But  you  will  drink?"  returned  Philemon,  tendering 
him  a  glass. 

"  I  think  I  will  not,"  said  Eichard. 

"  Drink ! "  growled  Silver,  with  a  quick,  deep  intonation. 

"  The  laws  of  the  mill  forbid  drinking,  and  the  law  of 
conscience  forbids  it,"  added  Richard. 

"  Clover  '11  build  !  "  Mr.  Gouch's  lips  began  muttering. 
This  was  a  magical  word ;  it  worked  Silver  to  a  frenzy ; 
though  Mr.  Gouch  certainly  had  no  ill  intents  on  his  brother 
stock-man. 

"  You  shall  drink  !  you  shall  all  drink !  "  screamed  Silver, 
starting  up. 

"  I  am  not  afraid  of  Clover,  and  Clover  shall  not  hurt 
you,"  said  Richard. 

Silver  grew  more  quiet,  and  sat  down  to  his  pipe,  saying, 
"  Drink,  Richard,  only  drink ! " 

"  There  is  mischief  here,"  said  Richard,  "  and  I  do  not 
understand  it.  And  there  is  more  mischief  here,  and  I  do 
understand  it :  and  it  is  there  ;  it  is  that  man,"  —  pointing  to 
Mr.  Helskill. 

"  I  hope  the  young  fellow  don't  accuse  me  of  mischief," 
replied  Mr.  Helskill,  picking  up  his  bottles. 

"You  needn't  hope  anything  about  it,"  said  Richard. 
"  You  may  know  ;  you  may  be  assured." 

"Well,  accuse  me  of  mischief!" 


58  RICHARD   EDNEY   AND 

"  I  did  n't  accuse  you  of  anything,  and  I  do  not.  I  said 
you  were  mischief;  and  you  are  !  You  are  deviltry  incar- 
nate, and  your  stuff  is  the  same  incarnadined  ! " 

"  Not  so  fast,"  interposed  Philemon. 

"  There  is  no  time  to  be  slower,"  answered  Eichard. 
"  Our  lunch  is  out ;   and  we  are  here  to  work,  not  play." 

"  They  would  put  on  the  screws,"  said  Mr.  Merlew ; 
"  they  would  make  nigger-wheels  of  us,  if  they  could,  and 
keep  us  always  at  it ;  they  would  like  to  see  us  saw-dust 
under  their  feet !  " 

"  There  is  no  harm  in  fun,"  said  Philemon.  "  Must 
spree  it,  these  tremendous  nights." 

"  Not  a  drop,  friends,  not  a  drop,"  replied  Richard. 
•  "  He  is  no  Friend  of  the  People,"  observed  Mr.  Helskill ; 
"  he  is  a  flinty  and  tyrannical  character.  I  have  seen  such 
before.  I  have  repelled  their  malicious  attempts ;  I  have 
defeated  their  mean  operations ;  I  have  sacrificed  a  good 
deal  to  put  them  down." 

"  You  are  a  very  direct  and  unequivocal  scamp ! "  said 
Richard. 

"  Drink,  for  my  sake  !  "  said  Silver. 

"  I  cannot  drink,"  answered  Richard. 

"  He  is  an  unfeeling  brute,"  observed  Mr.  Helskill.  "  I 
left  my  warm  Arbor ;  I  exposed  myself  to  the  weather.  I 
knew  I  had  comfort  for  you ;  I  knew  you  needed  it ;  I  knew 
Silver  wanted  me  to  come.  I  defied  the  infamous  statute ;  I 
ran  the  risk  of  falling  into  the  hands  of  some  skulking  in- 
former, and  I  have  fallen  into  his  hands,  —  I  have  fallen." 

"I  am  no  skulker,"  said  Richard;  "I  am  open-placed, 
and  open-tongued.  I  will  not  inform  against  you  else- 
where ;  1  will  tell  you  to  your  face  what  you  are,  and  what 
you  do.  You  bring  in  mischief  here ;  you  bring  in  fightings, 
ill-will,  neglect  of  work ;  you  bring  in  sickness  and  disease ; 


THE    governor's    FAMILY.  59 

you  come  a  good  ways  to  do  it ;  you  brave  the  coldest  night 
of  the  year  to  do  it;  you  are  desperate  in  the  business ;  you 
would  send  these  men  drunk  from  the  mill ;  you  would  drive 
them  into  a  snow-bank. to  die;  you  would  pitch  them, 
reeling  and  staggering,  into  their  own  homes !  Oif  with 
you,  —  off!" 

"  Presently,  presently,"  said  Mr.  Helsldll.  "  Alvin  shall 
have  his  glass.  Alvin  shall  have  the  ague  taken  out  of  his 
fingers."  He  inclined  the  bottle  towards  the  person  whose 
name  he  called. 

"  Alvin  shall  not  drink ! "  replied  Richard.  "  Alvin  is  a 
boy.     He  is  too  young  to  like  it,  and  too  old  to  be  spoilt." 

Mr.  Helskill  persisted.  Eichard,  quite  aroused,  with  a 
handspike,  dashed  the  bottle  to  atoms.  Carried  forward 
by  the  impulse,  he  descended  upon  the  other  bottle,  and 
treated  it  to  the  same  end ;  and  then,  seizing  the  basket  in 
which  these  things  had  been  borne,  he  hurled  it  towards  the 
door. 

The  confusion  of  this  scene  was  heightened  by  what 
immediately  followed.  The  basket,  in  its  rapid  transit, 
alighted  in  the  face  of  a  person  entering  the  mill.  It  was 
Captain  Creamer.  Already  agitated  by  what  he  overheard 
as  he  approached  the  building,  he  was  exceedingly  inflamed 
by  this  latter  piece  of  impertinence.  He  blustered  amongst 
the  men  in  a  way  that  boded  no  good  to  any  of  them. 

"  Don't  say  you  did  n't  drink  !  "  whispered  earnestly  Silver 
to  Richard,  as  he  saw  the  Captain  approaching;  "for  my 
sake,  don't  say  you  did  n't !  " 

The  hands  belonging  to  the  other  saws  fled  to  their 
respective  posts.  The  Friend  of  the  People,  already  dis- 
heartened by  the  manner  in  which  his  intentions  were 
received,  had  made  an  early  exit.  The  Captain's  own 
gang  stood  alone  before  him. 


60  RICHARD   EDNEY   AND 

Captain  Creamer  could  not  find  words  to  express  his 
astonishment,  his  grief,  his  anger;  and  he  was  silent.  At 
length,  composing  himself  sufficiently  to  speak,  he  charged 
the  men  with  violating  the  rules  of  Green  Mill  —  their  own 
promises,  and  duty.  He  enlarged  upon  the  danger  to 
which  they  were  exposing  themselves,  and  particularly  on 
the  risk  to  which  the  mill  was  subjected.  "  Mr.  Gouch," 
he  said,  "  my  head-stock  man,  my  trusty  servant,  I  had  not 
expected  this." 

"  Clover  '11  build  — "  began  Mr.  Gouch. 

"Don't  name  Clover  to  me  !"  retorted  the  Captain.  "I 
am  not  afraid  of  Clover ;  Clover  does  n't  rule  here.  Who 
threw  that  basket  at  me  ?  " 

"  I  threw  it,"  answered  Richard ;  "  but  I  did  not  intend  to 
hit  any  one ;    I  did  not  see  you." 

"  Drinking  !  In  liquor  !  Did  not  know  what  you  were 
about !  Could  not  discern  an  object  of  my  size  !  I  made  no 
impression  on  you  !  " 

"  I  cannot  explain,"  said  Eichard.  "  I  can  say  nothing 
about  it." 

"  I  presume  you  cannot,"  answered  the  Captain. 

"  Hoist  the  gate,  Mr.  Gouch !  You  will  work  an  hour 
longer  for  this.  In  justice,  I  could  demand  more ;  I  shall 
accept  of  that.  I  have  suspected  all  was  not  right;  I  have 
had  intimations  of  your  doings.  The  mill  is  jeopardized, 
the  whole  corporation  is  jeopardized,  by  your  conduct. 
Frightful  as  is  the  cold,  I  left  my  bed  to  look  after  you." 

The  men  resumed  their  duties;  the  Captain,  readjusting 
himself  in  his  bear-skin  coat,  strutted  to  and  fro  across  the 
gangAvay. 

Not  many  minutes  after,  approaching  the  door,  he  called 
to  Richard,  and  pointing  to  an  angle  of  the  road  in  front  of 


THE    governor's    FAMILY.  61 

the  mill,  he  said,  "  I  see  something  stirring  yonder.  Be 
spry  and  easy  ;  catch  it, —  do  not  let  it  escape  !  " 

Richard,  approaching  the  mysterious  object,  found  it  to 
be  a  man  filling  a  basket  with  waste  bits  of  wood.  He  trod 
catlike,  and  seized  the  man  firmly  by  the  collar.  The  latter 
dropped  a  stick  he  had  in  his  hand,  and  fell  back  passively 
on  Richard's  knees.  The  Captain  leaped  forvvard,  saying, 
"  Hold  on  !  "  and  also  fastened  himself  to  the  culprit,  who  in 
a  low  voice  replied, 

"  I  did  n't  succeed,  did  I  ?     Don't  hurt  me  ! " 

"  He  is  shamming,"  rejoined  the  Captain.  "  Let  him  not 
give  us  the  slip." 

They  dragged  him  to  the  mill.  The  light  revealed  the 
face  of  an  old  man,  thin  and  gray.  He  was  shaking  with 
the  cold. 

"Shut  down,"  said  the  Captain  to  Mr.  Gouch;  "there 
are  other  matters  to  attend  to.  We  have  missed  things 
from  the  mill ;  an  entire  pile  of  stuff  has  been  carried  off;  — 
odd  ends,  to  be  sure,  but  such  as  there  is  market  for,  and 
without  which  the  mill  could  not  live,  —  nay,  it  could  n't 
stand  a  day.     I  think  we  have  got  the  knave." 

"  It  is  an  old  man,"  said  Mr.  Gouch. 

"  Old,  is  he?"  asked  the  Captain,  who  had  not  noticed 
this  feature  of  the  case.  "  Too  old  to  be  stealing ;  too  old  to 
be  in  such  bad  business  as  this  ;  too  old  to  set  such  an 
example." 

"  Who  would  do  it  but  me  ? "  answered  the  ancient ;  "  who 
but  Grandfather  ?  Who  would  get  a  pitch-knot  in  the  cold, 
and  the  dark,  that  they  might  see  the  blaze,  —  that  the  young 
folks  might  be  gladdened  ?  I  am  not  old,  and  they  will  see 
I  am  not."     This  was  said  with  a  sort  of  doting  chuckle. 

"  What  shall  we  do  with  him  ?  "  inquired  the  Captain. 

"  I  would  let  him  go,"  said  Richard. 


IBS  RICHARD    EDNEY   AND 

"Do  you  mean  to  insult  me  again,  young-  man?"  asked 
the  Captain.  "  Has  neither  your  own  conduct  nor  my  for- 
bearance taught  you  decency?" 

"  I  think  the  chips  would  do  the  man  more  good  than  he 
can  do  us  harm,"  observed  Philemon  ;  "  and  I  would  not  pro- 
ceed against  him." 

"  Who  asked  what  you  would  do,  Mr.  Sweetly  ?"  respond- 
ed the  Captain. 

"  You  did,  sir,"  answered  Philemon. 

"  I  asked  what  we  should  do  with  this  criminal.  I  did 
not  ask  after  your  private  sentiments.  The  world  is  full 
of  them;  we  have  enough  of  them.  I  have  not  been  at  all 
this  pains  to  find  them  out." 

"  I  replied  to  your  question,  sir,  the  best  way  I  knew 
how." 

"  Call  you  that  doing  with  the  man?  — to  let  him  go — to  take 
no  notice  of  what  he  has  done,  —  to  set  this  villany  at  large  ?  " 

"  Svippose  we  duck  him  in  the  canal,"  said  Ezra,  "  then 
hang  him  on  the  jack-pole  to  dry." 

"Don't  do  that,"  said  the  old  man.  "I  couldn't  live 
through  it.  I  have  n't  long  to  live ;  but  I  want  to  see  the 
children  in  a  better  way  before  I  die." 

"  If  I  could  shake  him,  I  would,"  said  the  Captain,  and 
endeavored  to  suit  the  action  to  the  word,  but  the  garment 
on  which  he  seized  parted  in  his  hand ;  —  "  but  I  do  not 
like  to  take  the  law  into  my  own  hands ;  I  should  prefer 
bringing  him  before  a  justice.  I  shall  enter  a  complaint,  in 
the  morning." 

"  He  may  abscond,  in  the  mean  time,"  suggested  Ezra. 

"  Some  one  must  stay  with  him,"  observed  the  Captain, 
directing  an  inquiring  eye  to  his  men. 

"  I  will  not,"  said  Philemon. 

"  Nor  I,"  added  Ezra. 


THE    governor's    FAMILY.  63 

Silver  was  brooding  over  the  fire,  muncliing  his  pipe,  and 
would  not  answer. 

"  It  is  no  part  of  a  head-stock  man's  duty,"  evasively 
replied  Mr.  Gouch. 

"  You  will  do  it,  Richard,"  said  the  Captain,  "  and  I  may 
think  better  of  you." 

"  I  will,"  replied  Richard. 

"  Watch  him  close,"  enjoined  the  Captain,  hooking  Rich- 
ard's arm  in  that  of  the  old  man.  "  He  will  be  called  for 
about  ten  o'clock  in  the  morning." 

Having  given  a  right  direction  to  the  affairs  of  justice,  he 
turned  to  the  business  of  the  mill. 

The  cold  had  increased.  Midnight  seemed  to  be  gather- 
ing itself  up  for  a  final  plunge  upon  the  morning.  The  old 
man  shook  on  Richard's  arm. 

"  You  are  cold,"  said  Richard. 

"  They  are,"  replied  the  other. 

"  They  need  the  wood  ?  "  continued  Richard. 

"  I  thought  they  did,"  rejoined  the  old  man.  "  They 
seemed  to.  It  may  have  been  fancy;  perhaps  it  was  a 
dream.  I  get  confused  in  my  head,  I  have  so  much  to  do ; 
and  it  seems  sometimes  as  if  I  was  all  a  dream." 

"  They  shall  have  it,"  said  Richard,  with  emphasis. 

"  It  is  too  late  now.  It  is  over.  I  never  thought  I 
should  do  that.  I  never  thought  we  should  come  to  that ; 
but  a  little  blaze  is  so  pretty.     God's  will  be  done  ! " 

"  I  will  pay  for  it,"  said  Richard,  "  There  shall  be  no 
trouble  on  that  score."  He  went  to  the  spot  where  the 
basket  lay,  which  he  filled ;  and  giving  the  old  man  one 
handle,  and  taking  the  other  himself,  he  suffered  his  attend- 
ant to  lead  the  way  whither  he  would  go.  This  was  in  the 
direction  of  the  Factory  Boarding  Houses.  Richard  in- 
quired after  the  necessity  of  the  fuel  he  was  so  unseasonably 


64  RICHARD    EDNEY   AKD 

supplying,  as  a  clue  to  the  crime  over  which  he  was  so 
strangely  made  sentry.  He  gathered  from  the  old  man 
that  two  girls,  his  grandchildren,  had  come  to  work  in  the 
Factories,  and  he  had  accompanied  them  ;  that  one  of  them 
was  sick,  and  the  other  lay  exhausted  at  the  bedside ;  that 
their  means  were  short,  and  while  the  girls  slept,  he  had 
slipped  away  for  the  wood. 

As  they  reached  the  steps  of  the  house,  the  voice  of  Cap- 
tain Creamer  was  heard  close  behind. 

"What  does  this  mean?"  he  asked,  angrily.  "Have  I 
set  a  thief  to  watch  a  thief?  Through  your  means,  young 
man,  is  the  very  thing  consummated  which  I  have  wasted  a 
whole  night  to  prevent  ?  " 

Richard  explained;  —  the  Captam  was  not  propitiated. 
Richard  offered  to  deduct  the  value  of  the  wood  from  his 
wages.     How  little  did  he  understand  Captain  Creamer ! 

"  The  value  of  the  wood  !  A  basket  of  chips  !  "  The 
Captain  spurned  the  thought.  "It  was  the  wrong  that  affect- 
ed him,"  he  said ;  "  the  bad  beginning  of  a  young  man." 
However,  he  could  not  easily  reverse  the  course  of  events, 
and  these  accomplices  in  crime  were  permitted  to  enter  the 
house  with  their  ill-boding  freight. 

Richard  followed  his  guide  up  stairs  to  a  chamber  under 
the  roof,  in  the  third  story.  A  lamp  in  an  angle  of  the 
chimney  cast  a  shadow  over  the  room,  and  faintly  revealed 
the  forms  of  the  two  girls  on  the  bed.  Weariness  had  folded 
the  well  one,  and  an  opiate  the  sick  one,  in  deep  slumber ; 
and  they  were  not  aroused  at  the  entrance  of  Richard  and 
his  guide. 

"  We  had  better  not  try  to  make  a  fire,"  said  Richard ; 
"  the  room  is  not  very  cold,  and  the  hearth  is  v\^arni." 

"A  few  shavings,"  whispered  the  old  man;  "just  a 
little  blaze.     Junia   loves  to  see  a  blaze.     It  is  a  comfort 


THE    governor's    FAMILY.  65 

to  her.  And  when  t'  other  is  gone,  and  I  am  gone,  —  and 
that  will  be  soon,  —  there  will  only  be  a  little  blaze,  and  the 
memory  of  it,  in  all  this  cold  world,  for  her  to  look  upon." 
Richard  drew  some  shavings  from  the  basket,  and  soon  had 
them  lighted.  In  the  flickering  glare  which  they  cast  over 
the  room,  the  old  man  looked  and  acted  a  little  strangely 
betraying  a  singular  medley  of  imbecility,  pathos  and  joy, 
He  leaned  over  the  bed  with  a  deep  and  passionate  interest, 
Then  turning  to  Richard,  with  a  playful,  but  sad  infatua 
tion,  he  pointed  to  the  sleepers,  and  whispered,  "  That  one 
the  sick  one,  the  one  with  morning  hair,  —  her  child's  hair,  — 
is  Violet.  The  other,  with  the  evening  hair,  —  she  was  born 
in  the  evening,  and  there  are  stars  in  her  soul,  —  is  Junia. 
Who  called  her  Violet  ?  I  remember,  her  mother  did,  be- 
cause she  was  born  in  spring,  when  violets  blow.  And 
she  will  die  in  the  spring ;  it  was  then  her  mother  died ;  she 
will  die  Avhen  the  birds  begin  to  come,  and  the  weather  is 
soft.  If  she  could  live  then  !  But  she  had  better  not  die 
noiv.  God's  will  be  done  !  I  know  it  was  spring,  for  I  was 
sitting  on  the  bank  with  the  other  when  the  nurse  came. 
We  called  the  other  Junia,  because  she  was  born  in  June; 
and  there  is  more  summer  in  her  ;  she  is  riper,  and  stronger, 
and  can  bear  up  better ;  and  she  is  full  of  warmth  and  pretty 
life ;  her  hair  is  darker,  —  they  said  it  was  then,  and  it  is 
now, — and  she  was  alwaj's  amongst  us  like  the  smooth  mead- 
ow, and  her  eye  came  into  your  heart  like  noon  under 
the  shady  trees.  I  remember  it ;  I  have  a  strong  memory, 
—  a  very  strong  memory.  I  remember  a  great  many  more 
things  than  I  used  to  when  I  was  a  young  man.  This  one 
was  more  tender,  more  frail,  as  the  wind-flowers ;  she  never 
seemed  to  get  stronger,  and  we  made  a  lamb  of  her.  She 
hung  like  dew  upon  all  of  us,  and  all  our  feelings,  —  so  her 
6* 


66-  EICHARD    EDNEY   AND 

mother  said,  —  only  we  knew  she  must  go  soon ;  and  when 
the  buds  begin  to  burst,  she  will  die.     God's  will  be  done !  " 

There  was  too  much  tenderness  in  the  old  man,  too  many- 
cherished  though  bitter  and  confused  reminiscences,  too 
much  vague  but  corroding  sorrow,  for  Richard  not  to  be 
touched.  He  was  silent  and  reflective ;  and  his  whole  spirit 
was  concentrated  on  the  beauty  and  the  sadness  that  slum- 
bered before  him,  and  the  unwearied,  tottering  affection  that 
stood  by  the  side  of  it. 

Junia  awoke,  and,  somewhat  startled,  said,  "What  is  it. 
Grandfather  ?    Has  the  doctor  come  ? " 

"Nothing  has  happened,  dear,"  replied  the  Grandfather. 

"  I  have  no  business  here,"  said  Richard. 

"Yes,  you  have, — j'ou  know  you  have,"  answered  the  old 
man.     "  You  cannot  go." 

"  Let  me  make  more  fire,"  rejoined  Richard. 

"  "Where  did  the  wood  come  from  ?  "  asked  Junia,  ap- 
proaching the  hearth. 

"  He  brought  it,"  replied  her  Grandfather,  pointing  to 
Richard. 

"  We  are  obliged  to  you,"  Junia  said ;  "  but  so  cold,  — 
so  late  in  the  night  — " 

There  was  a  mystery  about  the  wood,  Avhich  neither  of 
them  was  ready  to  explain. 

"  Have  you  suffered  much  ?  "  asked  Ri-^hard. 

"  Yes,"  replied  Junia,  "  we  do,  for  Grandfather's  sake." 

"  Have  you  suffered  from  cold  ?  " 

"  Not  much,  —  not  long.     Violet  feels  it  sometimes." 

"  What  is"  her  sickness  ?  " 

"  She  was  always  slender,  and  after  our  father  and  moth- 
er died,  she  went  to  keeping  school;  but  this  was  too  much 
for  her,  and  she  had  an  attack  of  bleeding.  One  of  our 
neighbors  told  us  how  strong  her  girls  had  become  in  the 


THE    governor's    FAMILY.  67 

Factories;  and  we  must  earn  something  —  and  we  came 
liere.  She  was  better  for  a  v/hile  ;  but  she  is  worse  now, — 
very  bad,  indeed.  We  are  troubled  that  Grandfather  should 
exert  hirnself  so  much." 

"  They  do  not  know  me,"  said  the  old  man,  a  good  deal 
agitated  ;  "  they  do  not  know  how  able  I  am,  —  how  much  I 
can  endure.  They  do  not  mean  I  shall  know  how  weak 
they  are;  they  would  keep  it  from  me;  they  think  it  worries 
me.  But  they  cannot  hide  it,  and  I  know  she  will  die  when 
the  season  changes ;  —  her  mother  did.  I  could  have  got 
wood  alone." 

"Did  you  go  out  for  the  wood,  Grandfather?"  asked 
Junia,  with  surprise. 

"  I  helped  him,"  said  Richard,  who  wished  to  change  that 
sul)ject.  "  We  will  have  a  nice  fire  ;  "  and  he  put  on  more 
chips  and  butts.  He  felt  that  his  presence  must  be  embar- 
rassing ;  he  knew  that  the  matter  of  the  wood  was  so  ;  and 
he  said,  rising  from  his  chair,  "  If  there  is  anything  I  can 
do  for  you,  I  shall  be  glad  to  do  it."  "  We  are  under 
obligations  to  you,"  Junia  replied  ;  "  but  we  are  not  in  need 
of  anything."  Richard  advanced  towards  the  door ;  but  the 
old  man  laid  hands  upon  him,  led  him  to  his  chair,  adding 
that  he  must  stay. 

"If  Grandfather  wishes  it,  —  if  it  will  make  him  hap- 
pier,—  we  shall  be  glad  to  have  you  stay,"  said  Junia. 

Richard  was  bound  to  Capt.  Creamer,  and  to  the  law,  and 
to  his  own  promise,  to  stay;  and  since  he  could  not  explain 
the  real  cause  of  his  coming  and   staying,  he  said  nothing. 

"  All  for  Grandfather  !  "  The  old  man  leaned  forward, 
with  both  elbows  on  his  spread  knees,  rubbing  his  hands 
l.fore  the  fire,  and  repeated,  with  a  dry  laugh,  "All  for 
Grandfather!  They  do  not  know  it  was  all  for  them,  and 
that  it  has  come  to  this  all  for  them ;  God's  will  be  done  |  " 


68  KICIIARD    EDXEY   AST) 

"  Tell  me  what  has  happened,"  said  Junia,  with  an  anxious 
tone. 

"  Nothing,"  said  Richard,  "  nothing  to  speak  of  now. 
Your  Grandfather  was  afraid  you  might  suffer ;  and  you  will 
suffer  if  you  do  not  keep  quiet.     Your  sister  is  waking." 

"  Will  God  take  care  of  us  ?  "   she  asked. 

"  He  will,"  answered  Richard,  solemnly;  "and  to  God  let 
us  trust  all  things." 

Richard's  manner  was  so  kind,  and  his  words  so  soothing, 
that  Junia,  even  if  her  heart  had  begun  to  work  with  some 
inexplicable  evil,  regained  her  composure,  and  said  "I  will," 
and  went  to  the  bedside.  She  raised  her  sister,  and  laid 
pillows  under  her  head.  The  golden  hair  of  the  invalid, 
beneath  her  white  cap,  and  above  her  pale,  delicate  face,  was 
like  a  glowing  cloud  in  the  clear  sky,  and  her  blue  eye 
beamed  deep  and  far,  like  the  sea,  beneath.  "  That  is 
Grandfather's  friend,"  said  Junia  to  her.  "  Yes,  my  friend, 
dear,  my  friend,"  echoed  the  old  man.  "  His  name  is 
Richard." 

Violet  nodded,  and  smiled  a  faint  recognition  to  the 
stranger. 

"  Have  you  none  to  help  you  ?  "  asked  Richard.  "  Are 
there  none  in  the  house  to  take  turns  with  you  nights  ?  " 

"  There  is  a  number  of  girls,"  replied  Junia,  "  but  there 
has  been  a  good  deal  of  sickness  this  winter,  and  they  have 
been  called  out  often,  and  broken  of  their  rest.  Those  that 
have  strength  and  leisure  are  devoting  it  to  Miss  Eyre, 
getting  her  ready  to  be  married.  She  is  to  be  married  to 
Clover,  —  you  may  know  him ;  a  Mr.  Clover,  who  works  at 
the  Saw-mills,  —  and  they  say  Clover  will  build,  and  that  he 
expects  to  put  up  a  fine  house,  and  to  live  in  style ;  and  the 
girls  are  exerting  themselves  for  Plumy  Alicia.  She  is  a 
fascinating  girl,  and  has  many  friends ;  but  I  think  she  never 


THE    GOVERNOR  S    FAMILY.  btf 

liked  us  very  well,  and  I  suppose  we  get  less  attention,  at 
this  time,  on  that  account.  But  so  long  as  I  have  any  force 
left,  I  can  do  without  their  assistance." 

Richard  felt  another  singular,  strong  twinge.  The  name 
that  haunted  the  Green  Mill  had  got  into  this  sick  chamber ; 
that  man,  whom  he  had  never  seen,  and  never  until  to-day 
heard  of,  seemed  to  be  chasing  him  like  an  evil  or  a  mock- 
ing genius. 

"  We  have  had  wood  until  to-night,"  continued  Junia. 

The  mention  of  the  wood  troubled  Richard,  as  he  knew  it 
did  the  Grandfather.  He  would  have  rushed  out  doors  ;  but 
that  would  not  help  matters  within.  He  struggled  with 
himself,  arresting  the  natural  train  of  association,  and  re- 
pressing all  sense  of  the  strange  complexity  that  surrounded 
him,  and  became  calm. 

The  invalid,  wasting  under  a  seated  pulmonary  attack, 
coughed  at  intervals,  breathed  heavily,  nor  could  she  help 
disclosing  the  pains  that  invaded  her  frame. 

"  When  the  weather  changes,"  the  old  man  maundered, 
—  "when  the  warm  days  come,  when  the  violets  sprout — " 

Junia,  tranquil  as  was  her  manner,  lightly  as  she  dis- 
charged the  offices  of  the  sick  room,  inured  as  she  had 
become  to  the  mournful  chant  of  her  Grandfather,  and  to 
the  still  sadder  presages  of  her  own  mind,  could  not  resist 
the  perpetual  sorrow  that  as  a  storm  beat  against  her  breast, 
and  she  wept. 

"  Have  you  no  friends  in  the  city  ? "  asked  Richard. 
"  None,"  she  said.  "  Has  no  clergyman  been  to  see  you  ?  " 
"  Not  any."  "  Have  no  prayers  been  made  here  ?  "  "  Many, 
many,"  she  said.     "  We  have  all  prayed." 

"  Do  you  ever  pray  ?  "  inquired  the  old  man. 

"  Yes,"  replied  Richard. 

"  Young  men  do  not  pray  as  they  used  to,"  rejoined  the 


70  RICHARD    EDNEY    AND 

elder.  "In  my  day,  they  prayed.  God  was  all  about  us, 
and  our  spirits  were  lively  and  growing;  and  the  angels  took 
prayers  from  us,  as  the  bees  and  humming-birds  draw 
honey  from  the  flowers.  The  young  men  are  getting  old, 
very  old,  and  dry,  and  blasted.  I  am  young,  —  ha,  ha  !  " 
"  I  should  like  to  have  him  pray,"  said  the  sick  one, 
Richard  read  the  twenty-third  Psalm,  in  its  motion  so 
full  of  spiritual  and  halcyon-like  wafture,  in  its  feeling  so 
fervid,  trustful  and  joyous;  —  and  prayed.  He  collected 
into  one  earnest,  sympathetic  utterance,  before  God,  the 
hopes  and  the  fears,  the  anguish  and  the  aspirations,  of  the 
hour. 

The  night  waned.  The  Mill  bells  rang  early,  sharp,  and 
clear;  all  parts  of  the  house  resounded  with  the  clatter  of 
the  rising  and  the  departing,  of  Work  resuming  its  san- 
dals, and  going  forth  to  its  pilgrim's  progress  for  the  day. 
Some  of  the  girls  looked  into  the  chamber,  to  inquire  after 
the  patient,  and  hasted  away. 

1  The  landlady  entered  with  a  tray,  furnished  with  such 
articles  of  food  or  nourishment  as  the  invalid  might  require. 
She  wore  glasses,  and  had  a  gingham  handkerchief  thrown 
over  her  head,  under  which  any  quantity  of  grizzly  hair 
struggled  into  view.  She  cast  her  eyes  over  her  glasses 
twice  at  Richard, — once  as  she  passed  him  towards  the  bed, 
and  next  when  she  had  reached  the  bed.  Addressing  Junia 
and  the  old  man,  she  said,  "  Breakfast  is  waiting."  Did 
she  intend,  thought  Richard,  they  should  take  their  meal 
from  the  tray  ?  She  did  not  mean  that,  and  they  did  not 
understand  her  to  mean  that.  She  meant  that  their  break- 
fast was  ready  below.  "  Strangers  are  to  be  reported,"  she 
added;  "that  is  the  rule  of  the  large  boarding-houses, — 
front  stairs  carpeted,  and  Ladies'  Parlor,  —  as  one  might  see 
when  they  came  up,  and  not  act  here  as  Charley  Walter 


THE  governor's  family.  71 

did.  Perhaps  he  didn't  know  'twas  Whichcomb's,  —  see- 
ing he  come  in  the  night,  —  and  thought' it  was  Cain's, 
where  they  don't  keep  any  hours  ;  if  they  did,  they  would 
stop,  some  time  or  other,  boiling  their  knucks.  Velzora  Ann 
Fclty  would  cry  when  I  spoke  about  it,  and  the  things  no 
more  touched  on  her  plate  than  if  she  had  been  at  Cain's." 

Both  Junia  and  the  old  man  said  they  did  not  wish  for 
breakfast ;  and  certainly  that  was  the  last  thing  Richard 
thought  of.  Junia  took  charge  of  what  had  been  brought 
for  Violet,  and  the  landlady  remained  in  the  room  only  long 
enough  to  reconnoitre  the  person  and  purpose  of  Eichard. 
"  A  cousin,  Miss  Junia?"  "No,"  replied  Junia.  "Came 
in  the  night?  —  an  old  friend?"  "A  friend,"  answered 
Richard.  "Been  here  all  night  —  but  I  shall  not  be  hard 
with  you;  the  girls  have  their  wills  and  ways,  —  I  shall  not 
provoke  them."     She  retreated  through  the  door. 

Presently  Mrs.  Whichcomb  returned  for  the  tray,  and  to 
recover  such  portion  of  its  contents  as  were  not  otherwise 
disposed  of.  Richard,  who  wished  to  communicate  with 
the  head  of  the  house  touching  his  rather  equivocal  and 
very  unexpected  entry  into  it,  followed  as  she  left  the  room. 

He  found  her  descending  the  stairs,  and  combining  with 
each  step  a  nod  of  the  head,  and  an  ejaculation  of  the 
numerals,  as  if  the  three  things  timed  each  other.  "  One, 
two,  great  plate,  little  plate  ;  three,  four,  five,  six,  knife, 
fork,  tea-spoon,  and  little  jelly-spoon.  Six,  six!  little  jelly- 
spoon;  gone!  "  She  stopped,  and  looked  back  up  the  stairs, 
to  see  if  she  had  miscounted  a  step.  She  beheld  Richard 
watching  her  from  above. 

"  0  !"  said  she,  "I  was  just  thinking  of  you.  No  rela- 
tion, —  only  a  friend.  Do  you  know  your  friends  ? — do  you 
know  them  ? "  Richard  replied  that  he  had  never  seen 
them  before  that  night.    "  I  dare  say,"  answered  the  woman. 


72  KICHARD   EDNEY   A:>fD 

"  It  is  SO  in  all  the  first-class  houses,  which  Charley  Walter 
knew  all  about  it,  for  he  pigged  a  month  at  Cain's,  where 
they  are  all  in  a  muss.  And  Velzora  Ann  Felty  could  n't 
have  known  it,  for  she  was  sick.  Sickness  is  a  bad  thing  in 
a  house.  I  had  rather  have  ten  well  persons  than  one  sick, 
at  any  time."  Richard  observed  it  was  not  strange  she 
should.  "  There  is  a  great  deal  of  viciousness  in  sickness ; 
—  vice  brings  it  on."  Richard  said  there  was  truth  in  that 
remark.  "  The  eating  and  drinking  is  nothing,  —  they  are 
welcome  to  the  sugar,  and  jelly,  and  cream,  —  but  when  it 
comes  to  the  things  themselves  that  one  depends  on  to  get 
along  at  all,  and  purloining  and  putting  out  of  the  way, 
which  our  extra  time  does  not  deserve,  it  is  too  much. 
Many  people  are  sick  to  gratify  their  wicked  propensities. 
You  may  not  know  it  and  would  not  say  so."  Richard  was 
silent.  He  did  not  know  it,  and  he  could  not  say  so. 
"  They  take  to  their  beds  for  the  sake  of  being  waited  on ; 
they  linger  along,  that  they  may  have  more  opportunities 
for  imposing  on  the  house;  and  they  go  to  their  graves  with 
silver  spoons  in  their  hands !"  This  climax  was  awful,  and 
the  landlady  felt  it  to  be  so ;  she  staggered  under  the  load 
of  her  conceptions,  and  would  have  fallen  if  the  balustrade 
had  not  been  a  strong  one. 

It  would  have  helped  Richard  to  be  put  in  possession  of 
certain  particulars  relating  to  this  woman.  A  catastrophe 
once  came  off  iia  her  house,  from  which  she  never  entirely 
recovered.  It  was  known  as  the  Charley  Walter  affair,  or 
the  Velzora  Ann  Felty  affair.  This  tinged  her  mind.  She 
referred  to  it  when  she  was  speaking  of  other  things,  —  she 
thought  of  it  even  when  she  was  thinking  of  other  things. 
It  was  a  rock  in  the  current  of  her  being,  around  which  her 
feelings  perpetually  eddied.  In  addition,  she  hated  Cain's, 
a  contiguous  boarding-house.     And,  what  was  most  remote 


THE    governor's   FAMILY.  73 

from  Eichard's  thoughts  at  the  moment,  she  was  anxious 
about  her  property. 

But  Richard,  who  was  simply  solicitous  to  be  disencum- 
bered of  his  confused  feelings,  and  to  unfold  to  the  landlady 
the  nature  of  his  position,  and  why  he  was  in  the  house, 
disgusted  at  her  manner,  returned  to  the  chamber. 

The  officers  would  soon  be  there ;  the  secret  would  be 
forthcoming,  do  what  he  might.  The  more  he  saw  of 
Junia,  the  more  he  was  assured  of  her  true  womanliness, 
and  her  capability  of  encountering  evil ;  he  stifled  his 
repugnance  to  giving  her  pain,  and  resolved  to  acquaint  her 
with  the  simple  state  of  the  case.  Taking  her  one  side,  he 
related  what  had  befallen  in  the  night ;  how  her  grand- 
fatlier  was  detected  in  theft,  and  he  was  appointed  to  watch 
hiin.  He  doubted  if  the  old  man  would  be  convicted, 
though  he  did  not  know  what  Captain  Creamer  might  be 
able  to  do. 

In  the  mean  time,  he  would  take  an  instant  and  run  to  his 
brother's,  that  they  might  not  be  alarmed  at  his  long  ab- 
sence. Returning  forthwith,  he  encountered  on  the  stairs 
the  Captain,  the  City  Constable,  who  was  knocking  at  the 
door  of  the  sick  room,  the  landlady,  and  several  others, 
women  and  girls,  whom  he  did  not  know.  "  Out,"  said  the 
Captain  to  him;  "but  is  the  old  manm.?"  He  said  this 
with  a  violent  glance  at  Richard,  which  he  meant  to  be 
ungracious  and  stinging,  and  which  should  sever  the  young 
man  in  twain.  Richard  made  no  reply.  The  door  did  not 
op'^n,  and  the  Constable  rapped  again.  He  wished  to  be 
civil.     He  held  his  ear  against  it,  to  hear  if  it  manifested 

\  signs  of  relenting.  He  then  looked  hard  at  the  door, 
auch  as  to  say,  "  I  give  you  a  minute  ;  and  if  you  do  not 
open,  I  shall  break  in." 

The  lips  of  this  functionary  were  tightly  compressed,  and 
7 


74  EICHAKD   EDNEY   A^^D 

his  eye  was  vacant  and  dreamy ;  he  did  not  notice  the 
crowd  that  was  about  him  ;  he  did  not  feel  the  boys  that,  in 
their  eagerness  to  be  in  with  the  foremost,  trod  on  his  heels. 
Klumpp  was  a  man  of  one  idea,  and  exactly  suited  to  a 
painful  or  disagreeable  duty.  Nothing  would  prevent  his 
arriving  at  his  main  object;  nothing  extraneous  could  divert 
his  mind  or  mislead  his  steps.  He  had  recently  been  elected 
to  office  ;  he  felt  his  inexperience,  but  he  wished  to  be  faith- 
ful ;  he  had  often  heard  of  the  tap  on  the  shoulder,  and  the 
look  in  the  eye,  and  the  whispered  "  Come  with  me  ;  "  he 
had  seen  the  thing  done,  when  he  was  a  boy,  and  he  had 
heard  the  old  constable  describe-  how  he  treated  desperate 
offenders  to  it,  and  there  was  something  magical  in  that  tap, 
and  that  look,  and  that  whisper ;  and  he  was  now  the  ma- 
gician himself,  and  he  wished  to  conjure  not  only  with  suc- 
cess, but  with  dignity.  Hence  the  uneasy,  abstract  way  he 
had.  The  mercury,  even  now,  stood  nearly  at  zero,  but  he 
did  not  notice  it ;  and  when  Mrs.  Whichcomb  spurted  out 
her  innuendoes,  he  did  not  notice  her. 

The  mistress  of  the  house  had  exchanged  the  gingham 
handkerchief  for  a  black-bordered  cap.  She  wiped  her  face 
with  her  apron,  and  leered  at  Richard.  Her  long,  scant 
fore  teeth,  that  looked  like  wheel-cogs,  seconded  the  en- 
deavor of  her  lips,  and  conveyed  an  expression  of  very  vul- 
gar satisfaction.  Her  manner  betokened  great  intimacy 
with  Richard,  great  understanding  of  his  humor,  great 
insight  into  what  she  knew  would  be  his  feelings  on  the 
occasion.  "  The  world  always  turns  out  just  about  as  wf 
calculate,"  she  said;  "the  world  cannot  deceive  us  lon^ 
He  would  not  believe  it,  when  I  told  him.  But  't  is  wor^ 
now.  Was  there  any  stealing,  then  ?  —  ha!  ha!"  SIj 
laughed,  —  she  giggled.  "  Miss  Eyre,  this  is  the  young 
man  that  can  tell  about  it.     Have  you  examined  your  trunks 


THE    governor's    FAMILY.  75 

and  drawers,  girls  ?  I  have  heard  Plumy  Alicia  say,  says 
she,  '  It  was  so,'  says  she.     Ha  !  ha  !  " 

A  young  lady  in  the  crowd,  whom  this  last  obscrvatiou 
seemed  to.  arouse,  and  to  whom  it  was  directed,  raised  her 
hand,  and  shook  her  head,  as  if  she  would  hush  Mrs. 
Whichcomb,  at  the  same  time  suffusing  her  face  with 
blushes,  that  might  have  aroused  the  attention  of  anybody 
else. 

This  must  be  Miss  Plumy  Alicia  Eyre,  thought  Richard; 
and  he  turned  to  look  at  her;  and  having  looked  once,  he 
looked  again.  She  was  worth  looking  at,  and  she  seemed 
even  to  exact  an  involuntary  regard.  She  blushed,  but  in 
such  a  way  as  to  make  you  blush,  and  then  to  set  you  to 
looking  at  her  to  see  why  she  made  you  blush.  So  Richard 
found  himself  looking  at  her. 

She  was  of  good  proportions,  and  of  a  suggestive  and 
energetic  countenance.  Her  hair  was  elaborated  into  stream- 
ing ringlets  and  flowing  plaits.  There  were  showy  hoops 
in  her  ears,  and  glancing  rings  on  her  fingers.  She  had 
what  are  termed  speaking  eyes,  —  eyes  full  of  animation, 
and  brightness,  and  deliciousness,  —  and  a  pair  of  splendid 
dimples.  Plumy  Alicia,  —  we  call  her  by  the  only  species 
of  titular  abridgment  she  tolerated,  —  Plumy  Alicia  had  no 
previous  designs  on  Richard ;  but  when  he  looked  so  ear- 
nestly at  her,  when  he  seemed  so  deeply  interested  in  her, 
when  she  saw  his  handsome  figure,  and  his  intelligent  face, 
some  design  took  root  in  her.  We  do  her  no  injustice  in 
saying  this,  for  it  was  evident  to  all  who  saw  her ;  and  her 
own  conscience,  if  it  were  questioned,  would  have  confessed 
it.  But  she  had  no  time  to  pursue  her  arts,  for  the  atten- 
tion and  person  of  Richard  were  called  to  other  things. 

Klumpp  got  into  the  room ;  but  he  did  not  see  that  it  was 
a  sick  room,  nor  that  one  lay  emaciated  on  the  bed  and 


76  RICHARD   EDNEY   AND 

another  sobbing  near  her ;  nor  that  the  old  man  sat  bend- 
ing over  both  of  them,  with  their  arms  about  his  neck.  He 
only  saw  the  old  man,  and  the  white  arms  —  the  arms  lying 
between  him  and  the  magical  tap  —  interfering  with  Justice 
and  Crime.  Klumpp  undid  the  arms,  and  executed  the  tap, 
and  then  drew  back  to  see  the  effect.  The  old  man  did 
not  stir.  Klumpp  then  approached,  and  whispered  the 
cabalistic  words  in  his  ear,  "  Come  with  me  !  "  Still  the  old 
man  moved  not.  He  then  raised  him  up,  and  looked  in  his 
eye.  The  eye  did  it.  The  old  man  went ;  and  it  was  soon 
rumored,  in  all  taverns  and  stables,  and  all  lairs  of  boys  and 
boyish  men,  what  an  eye  Klumpp  had ;  and  everj'body  be- 
gan to  be  afraid  of  Klumpp's  eye. 

The  old  man  went  to  his  trial.  Richard,  a  leading  wit- 
ness, must  of  course  go  too.  He  fell  in  with  the  crowd 
that  dogged  the  steps  of  Justice.  The  seat  of  judgment  was 
the  office  of  Benjamin  Bennington,  Esq.,  the  Governor's 
son,  — or  Squire  Benjamin,  as  he  was  called,  —  before  whom 
the  complaint  was  brought. 

Captain  Creamer  testified  to  such  facts  as  are  in  posses- 
sion of  the  reader.  It  was  a  plain  case,  and  the  prisoner 
might  as  well  have  confessed  his  guilt ;  which  in  effect, 
though  not  in  words,  he  did  do.  But  what  coloring  would 
the  facts  bear  ?  This  was  the  important  question,  and  the 
judge  felt  it  to  be  so.  Squire  Benjamin  reverenced  justice, 
and  he  loved  mercy.  Richard  spoke  of  some  things  that 
the  Captain  did  not  know.  He  alluded  to  the  imbecility  of 
the  old  man,  to  his  affection  for  his  grandchildren,  to  the 
straitened  circumstances  of  the  family,  to  the  sick  one,  to 
the  devoted  Junia.  Squire  Benjamin  had  sisters,  and  his 
sympathies,  —  dangerous  things  in  a  judge  !  —  were  stirred. 
The  Captain  saw  the  danger  to  his  cause,  and  exploded  on 
the  necessity  of  justice,  strict  justice,  and  of  quelling  the 


THE    governor's    FAMILY.  77 

dangerous  temper  of  the  times.  Richard  was  again  ques- 
tioned. He  not  only  answered  what  was  put  to  him  ;  he 
enlarged  on  the  subject ;  he  glowed  in  depicting  the  exten- 
uating circumstances ;  he  was  even  eloquent  in  his  enumer- 
ation of  the  several  points  of  interest.  The  prisoner  was 
acquitted  with  a  reprimand. 
7* 


CHAPTER    V. 

BIOGRAPHICAL. 

Richard  Edney  was  born  of  worthy  parents,  in  an  inte- 
rior town  of  the  state.  Three  things  —  the  Family,  the 
School,  and  the  Church  —  contributed  to  the  formation 
of  his  mind  and  development  of  his  character.  To  the 
first,  he  owed  his  gentler  feelings ;  to  the  second,  his  ele- 
mentary knowledge ;  the  last  aroused  his  deeper  thought, 
and  determined  his  spiritual  direction.  He  boiTowed  books 
from  the  village  library,  and  newspapers  from  the  postmas- 
ter, and  had  the  reading  of  a  weekly  paper  at  his  father's 
table.  A  debating  club,  maintained  by  the  young  men  of 
the  place,  in  which  the  topics  of  the  times  were  discussed, 
aroused  his  invention,  enlivened  his  wit,  and  while  it  inured 
him  to  habits  of  investigation,  it  directed  him  to  some  solid 
acquisition.  At  the  Academy,  he  studied  the  ordinary  com- 
pends  of  philosophy  and  history,  and  even  made  a  slight 
attempt  on  the  Latin  tongue.  Nor  should  it  be  forgotten 
that  the  reading-books  in  our  common  schools,  comprising 
select  pieces  from  the  best  authors,  exert  a  permanent  effect 
on  the  scholar,  correcting  the  taste  and  enriching  the  imag- 
ination, aflTording  at  the  same  time  many  admirable  senti- 
ments, and  suggesting  some  profound  thought. 

Besides,  Richard  enjoyed  the  ministrations  of  an  excel- 
lent clergyman,  a  man  of  refined  culture  and  earnest  piety. 
Settled  in  a  rural  district,  the  recreations  of  this  gentleman 
were  gardening,  fishing,  hunting.  In  this  way,  he  was 
able  to  pursue  more  satisfactorily  his  parochial  duties,  since 
in  the  fields  most  of  his  people  found  occupation,  while  in 


niCHAED    EDNEY,    ETC.  7tf 

the  woods  some  prosecuted  their  lumbering  operations,  and 
on  the  streams  lay  their  mills.  In  these  rambles,  the  youth 
of  the  parish  sometimes  joined  their  pastor;  and  no  one  was 
more  happy  to  be  thus  associated  than  the  lad  who  forms 
the  leading  character  of  this  story.  Eichard  was  thus 
introduced  to  Nature.  He  conversed  with  the  phenomena 
of  creation  ;  he  learned  the  distinctions  and  varieties  of  the 
animate  and  inanimate  world ;  his  sense  of  the  beautiful  was 
heightened,  and  his  love  of  being  in  general,  to  quote  a 
phrase  of  the  Schools,  was  developed. 

Pastor  Harold  was  not  a  Christian  alone  in  doctrine  and 
discourse  ;  he  aimed  to  be  such  in  works.  He  believed  that 
Christianity  was  designed  to  redeem  mankind,  and  that  the 
Church  was  a  chosen  instrument  of  this  redemption.  He 
sou  gilt  to  develop  within  the  Church  an  Operative  Philan- 
thropy ;  and  this  principle  he  applied  wherever  it  could 
subserve  its  great  end.  The  evening  religious  meetings  he 
divided  into  several  sorts.  In  addition  to  what  the  Gospel 
could  do  for  their  souls,  he  urged  it  as  a  serious  point  upon 
his  people,  what  it  would  make  them  do  for  others.  In  fur- 
therance of  this  plan,  different  evenings  were  assigned  to 
ditlerent  subjects  :  one  to  Intemperance;  one  to  War;  another 
to  Slavery  ;  a  fourth  to  Poverty :  and  the  enumeration  went 
on  till  it  comprised  the  entire  routine  of  Practical  Chris- 
tianity. He  called  these  meetings  the  Church  Militant;  and 
any  particular  meeting  was  appointed  as  a  Conference  of  the 
Church.  At  these  Conferences,  tracts,  newspapers,  circulars, 
that  are  apt  to  cumber  a  minister's  study,  were  distributed, 
and  the  specific  charities  of  the  Church  more  wisely  and 
easily  apportioned.  These  meetings  were  of  service  to 
Richard  ;  he  gained  thereby  much  valuable  information,  and 
was  led  to  a  clearer  understanding,  and  a  more  vital  im- 
pression, of  his  duties  and  responsibilities.     He  had  access 


80  RICHARD    EDXEY    AND 

to  his  Pastor's  library,  and  in  some  sense  to  his  heart ;  so 
that  in  many  forms  he  shared  largely  in  that  renovating, 
spiritualizing,  and  exalting  influence,  which  this  good  man, 
from  the  pulpit,  the  fields,  the  evening  meeting,  and  his 
study,  shed  over  the  town. 

In  the  Sunday-school  he  learned  the  rudiments  of  the 
Gospel ;  in  the  services  of  the  sanctuary  he  was  carried 
through  a  still  deeper  religious  experience ;  and  the  ser- 
mons to  which  he  listened,  and  the  prayers  in  which  he 
engaged,  brought  him  into  nearer  communion  with  the 
Father  of  spirits,  and  confirmed  his  progress  in  the  Divine 
life. 

It  became  not  only  the  motto  on  the  wall  of  his  chamber, 
but  the  deeper  aspiration  of  his  heart,  To  be  good,  and  to 

DO    GOOD. 

Yet  his  forte  was  rather  physical  than  intellectual.  He 
did  not  go  to  college,  and  adopt  one  of  the  learned  pro- 
fessions ;  partly,  indeed,  by  reason  of  pecuniary  impediments. 
He  had  no  desire  to  enter  a  store,  and  embark  his  all  on 
the  frail  but  exciting  bottom  of  commercial  avocation.  His 
ambition  was  to  be  a  thorough  and  upright  mechanic. 
Manual  labor  pleased  him ;  and  he  was  skilled  in  many 
forms  of  it.  His  father,  besides  a  farm,  carried  on  a  saw- 
mill, to  both  of  which  he  trained  his  son.  A  well-regulated 
farm  demands  mechanical  care,  and  is  an  ample  field  for  the 
employment  of  mechanical  genius  ;  as,  indeed,  it  furnishes 
scope  for  the  exercise  of  almost  every  faculty  of  the  human 
mind.  Richard  had  spent  one  winter  amongst  the  head- 
waters of  the  River,  lumbering. 

Suretyship,  or  loss  of  crops,  or  whatever  it  might  be, 
excepting  that  it  was  no  vice  of  his  own,  troubled  his  father 
in  lifting  the  mortgage  that  had  lain  many  years  on  his 
farm.     One    or  two    instalments   were  still  due ;  —  they 


THE    governor's    FAMILY.  81 

were  due  the  Governor,  of  whom  the  original  purchase  was 
made;  and  Richard  came  to  Woodylin  partly  for  the  purpose 
of  earning  the  requisite  sum.  He  came,  also,  with  the 
desire,  not  uncommon  in  the  youthful  breast,  of  seeing 
more  of  the  world. 

He  came  with  good  principles  and  good  feelings ;  he  was 
willing  to  meet  the  world  on  fair  grounds ;  he  neither  ex- 
pected too  much,  nor  did  he  bid  too  freely.  He  sought  to 
glorify  God,  and  benefit  man ;  yet  was  he  ignorant,  practi- 
cally ignorant,  of  the  many  arts  by  which  selfishness, 
vanity,  and  the  false  systems  of  society,  disintegrate  charac- 
ter, and  undermine  virtue. 

He  made  engagements  with  Capt.  Creamer  in  good  faith  ; 
he  brake  the  bottles  of  the  liquor-pedler  with  a  righteous 
zeal ;  he  was  irresistibly  concerned  for  the  Old  Man  and  his 
unfortunate  grandchildren;  he  did  not  know  Clover  or  Miss 
Eyre ;  he  loved  the  children  of  his  sister,  if  the  hyperbole 
will  not  be  misunderstood,  with  his  whole  soul. 


CHAPTER    VI. 

MEMMY   AND   BEBBY, 

Yes,  Eichard  loved  these  children ;  and  loved  to  be  with 
them,  and  to  amuse  them,  and  to  be  amused  by  them. 
After  his  nap,  —  for  he  had  had  no  sleep  since  the  night 
before,  and  many  things  had  happened,  in  the  mean  time,  to 
excite  and  tire  him,  —  after  his  nap,  he  came  down  into  the 
kitchen,  and  sat  by  the  stove.  The  children  began  their 
pranks,  —  they  could  not  let  them  alone.  Their  mother  was 
preparing  for  baking,  and  she  could  neither  bear  their  pranks 
nor  their  presence  ;  so  she  sent  them  into  the  middle  of  the 
room.  They  could  not  stop  at  that,  but  went  clear  over  to 
Uncle  Richard's  knee,  and  rebounding  thence,  they  fetched 
up  with  the  other  side  of  the  room.  They  seemed  to  move 
together  as  we  imagine  the  Siamese  twins  to  have  done, 
when  they  were  children  ;  having  one  will  and  one  centre 
of  gravitation,  like  boys  in  a  boat,  or  leaves  in  a  whirlwind. 
Then,  again,  it  was  evident  they  had  separate  wills,  and 
sometimes  a  sharp  individuality  of  will  would  show  itself. 
Memmy  was  the  oldest,  and  the  strongest,  and  we  should 
expect  her  to  lead  ofT.  So  she  did;  but  not  always. 
Bebby's  little  individuality  was  mighty  strong  when  it  got 
roused,  and  it  made  up  in  storming  what  it  lacked  in  solid 
weight.  It  was  like  a  cat  frightening  a  great  dog  by  demon- 
stration,—  sheer  demonstration.  But  Memmy  generally 
went  ahead  ;  and  Bebby  wanted  to  do  what  Memmy  did. 
They  climbed  to  the  window,  and  entertained  themselves 
with  the  frost  that  glittered  on  the  glass.  Memmy  printed 
her  hand  in  it ;  holding  it  there  till  palm,  thumb  and  fingers, 


THE    governor's    FAMILY.  83 

melted  their  image  into  the  glass  ;  and  Bebhy  did  the  same. 
It  was-cold  work,  and  Bebby's  fingers  were  red ;  but  she  was 
persevering;  and  when  Memmy  called  to  Uncle  Richard  to 
look  at  what  she  had  done,  Bebby  did  so  too.  Not  that 
Bebby  could  speak  a  word ;  but  she  had  a  finger  that  was 
full  of  the  energy  of  utterance ;  and  she  had  a  scream,  too, 
that  needed  no  interpretation,  and  her  lips  quivered  elo- 
quence. And  then,  —  as  if  she  possessed  neither  finger,  nor 
throat,  nor  lips,  —  there  was  her  eye  ;  that  told  everything. 
Poor  piece  of  dumbness  !  she  had  a  superfluity  of  organs ; 
and  her  eye  alone  would  have  made  way  for  her  through 
the  world,  sans  everything  else. 

Memmy  laid  down  to  it,  as  we  say,  and  applied  her  face 
to  the  window,  and  she  produced  chin,  lips,  nose,  eye-brows 
thereon ;  and  turning  to  Uncle  Richard,  to  show  him  what 
she  had  done,  there  glared,  from  the  great  ice-mountains 
which  the  frost  creates  on  windows,  this  hideous  ice-mask; 
and  didn't  Uncle  pretend  to  be  frightened?  and  didn't 
Memmy  laugh  ?  But  Bebby  got  up  something  as  good,  and 
more  humorous ;  for  she  laughed,  herself,  while  she  was 
making  it;  and  then  her  mouth  was  so  pinched  with  the 
cold,  she  could  hardly  laugh,  and  tears  streamed  down 
through  what  she  did  laugh. 

Memmy  then  took  a  slate-pencil,  and  Uncle  had  to  fit 
Bebby  a  sharp  stick,  and  they  set  to  work,  scratching  figures 
in  the  frost.  Memmy  efl'ected  rude  houses,  and  ruder  rings 
for  heads,  and  triangular  skirts,  and  points  for  feet,  and 
called  the  whole  boys  and  girls.  Bebby  scratched  at  random, 
straight  lines,  and  cross  lines;  but  it  was  all  the  same  to 
her,  and  she  meant  it  to  be  all  the  same  to  everybody  else ; 
and  she,  in  her  way,  called  it  boys  and  girls  and  houses, 
and  her  eyes  sparkled,  her  lungs  exploded,  her  frame 
vibrated  all  over,  when  she  told  it. 


84  RICHARD   EDNEY   AND 

But  we  must  come  back  of  what  we  have  written,  a  little ; 
we  are  overstating  the  case.  We  say  Bebby  could  not 
talk ;  people  generally  said  so,  and  we  incidentally  fell  into 
the  common  error.  But  it  would  not  do  to  say  this  before 
Memmy;  she  would  be  instantly  upon  you.  "Bebby  can 
talk ;  she  can  say  '  Ma,  Ma,'  and  '  No,  No,'  and  '  dum, 
dum,'  and  '  bye,  bye,'  and  *  there ! '  She  has  got  teeth, 
now !  "  It  was  an  old  idea  of  Memmy's  that  Bebby  could 
not  talk  because  she  had  no  teeth ;  she  said  the  gums  cov- 
ered her  teeth  all  up,  and  the  words,  too.  But  the  teeth 
came,  —  at  least,  two  or  three  of  them  got  out  of  their 
entanglement,  —  and  then  she  could  talk  ;  and  she  did  talk. 
So  declared  Memmy ;  and  when  the  Mother  of  the  Child 
and  the  Father  spoke  of  its  defect  and  backwardness  in 
this  respect,  Memmy  always  cam.e  forward  with  a  stout 
demurrer. 

We  say  this,  that  the  children  may  have  full  justice ; 
and  we  say  it  for  Richard's  sake,  who  took  Memmy's  side 
in  the  controversy,  and  always  defended  the  ground  that 
Bebby  could  talk. 

Uncle  Richard  was  reading  a  newspaper,  but  —  the  selfish 
imps  !  —  they  would  not  tolerate  that ;  they  would  have  no 
interference  with  their  rights ;  they  were  news  enough  for 
him ;  accident  and  incident ;  hair-breadth  escapes ;  won- 
derful discoveries;  they  were  foreign  news  and  domestic 
news;  they  had  their  poet's  corner,  and  their  page  of 
romance.  And  they  had  some  original  thoughts  on  per- 
petual motion  and  the  quadrature  of  the  circle,  and  were 
crowded  with  pictorial  advertisements  of  as  many  strange 
things  as  Barnum  has  in  his  Museum. 

Bebby  was  more  blond,  and  soft,  and  supple,  than  Memmy, 
or  than  Memmy  ever  had  been.  Memmy's  hair  was  darker, 
and  lay  smooth  on  her  head ;  but  Bebby's  was  all  in  a  toss, 


THE    GO\''ERNOR's   FAMILY,  85 

and  always  in  a  toss ;  it  was  not  curly,  but  floccuknt,  and 
had  a  pearly  lustre,  and  it  hung  on  her  like  the  fringe  of 
the  smoke-tree,  and  looked  like  a  ferment  of  snow,  a  httle 
cloud  of  snow-dust  flying  about  the  room. 

Memmy  pulled  off  her  shoes  and  stockings,  —  this  was  not 
allowed,  but  mother's  back  was  turned,  and  Uncle  looked  on 
so  smilingly,  —  and  Bobby's  were  off  in  a  trice ;  and  they 
went  pattering  and  tripping  barefoot.  Memmy  got  into  the 
bed-room,  and  hid,  and  cooped;  and  Bobby  found  her;  and 
there  were  great  bursts  of  astonishment  and  pleasure.  Then 
Bebby  undertook  to  do  the  same ;  but  she  cooped  before  she 
got  to  her  hiding-place,  and  then  she  frisked  round  trying  to 
find  herself,  and  this  made  them  still  more  obstreperous. 

Mother  went  out  of  the  room  a  moment,  leaving  a  bowl 
of  Indian  meal  on  the  table.  No  sooner  did  Memmy  spy 
this,  and  see  the  coast  clear,  than  she  pushed  a  chair  along- 
side the  table,  and  fell  to  dabbling  in  the  meal.  Bebby 
must  follow  suit ;  she  shoved  a  chair  all  the  way  across 
the  room,  and  they  both  stood  on  the  margin  of  the  meal- 
bowl.  This  was  rare  sport ;  it  was  something  new  for 
Bebbj'-,  —  she  never  had  got  so  far  before,  — she  had  never 
thrust  her  hands  into  meal.  Memmy  had,  —  Memmy  was 
used  to  it.  But  Bebby,  she  was  awed,  and  she  was  enrap- 
tured ;  she  was  on  Pisgah's  top,  and  Canaan  lay  fairly  be- 
fore her,  —  only  she  was  a  little  afraid  of  Jordan.  Why 
should  she  crow  so  ?  Why  should  she  be  so  all  in  a  trem- 
ble ?  What  did  she  want  of  the  meal  ?  But  into  it  she 
dove  both  arms,  to  the  elbows ;  she  lifted  it  with  her 
hand,  she  crumpled  it  in  her  fist,  she  sifted  it  through  her 
fingers;  she  made  piles  of  it,  and  scattered  them.  Then 
she  looked  at  her  fingers,  and  on  her  dress,  and  on  the 
tabic  ;  and  when  she  saw  the  meal  spilled  everywhere,  she 
seemed  half  frightened.  Hadn't  she  a  conscience,  and 
8 


86  RICHARD   EDNEY   AND 

was  n't  some  fiery  young  Nemesis  scourging  her  inside  ?  — 
Did  she  love  the  feeling  of  the  soft  powder  ?  had  she  a  pas- 
sion for  dust  ?  would  she  wallow  in  the  mire,  if  she  had  a 
chance  ?  Inexplicable  little  meal-stirrer !  Memray  sprinkled 
some  on  Bebby's  head,  and  Bebby  tried  to  reciprocate  the 
favor.  Mother  came  back.  "  Eichard,"  she  screamed, 
"  how  could  you  let  them  do  so  ?"  Richard  had  done  noth- 
ing about  the  matter,  except  to  look  on.  "Wasn't  that 
enough  ?  "  said  she  ;  "  could  n't  you  see  it  ?  did  n't  you  see 
it  ?  "  Seizing  Bebby  by  the  shoulders,  she  held  the  child 
square  round,  for  Richard  to  look  at.  "  Her  tire,"  she  con- 
tinued, "  was  span-clean  this  morning  ;  her  hair  is  full  of  it ! 
O,  I  shall  go  off  the  handle  !  Have  you  no  heart,  brother  ? 
Couldn't  you  feel,  as  well  as  see  ?"  "  It  is  nothing  very 
bad,  I  hope,"  said  Richard.  "  All  covered  with  this  dirty 
meal !  "  exclaimed  Roxy.  "  Your  meal  is  not  dirty,  is  it, 
sister?"  "Don't  joke,  brother !  It  is  a  serious  case;  the 
children  are  forming  very  bad  habits  I  " 

"  Habits  of  what?"  asked  Richard. 

"  Habits  of  getting  into  things,"  she  replied. 

"  That  is  not  a  bad  habit,  —  is  it  ?  " 

"Habits  of  getting  dirty.  And  I  always  said,  if  ever  I 
had  a  child,  it  should  be  kept  clean.  If  there  is  anything 
in  the  world  most  disagreeable,  it  is  a  dirty  child." 

"  The  children  are  not  disagreeable  to  me,"  said  Richard. 

"  The)r  are  not  to  me,"  rejoined  his  sister;  "  but  they  are 
to  other  people." 

"  It  seems  to  me,"  added  Richard,  "  I  would  not  trouble 
myself  much  about  other  people,  if  I  was  satisfied  myself. 
'  Other  people  '  are  numerous  ;  and  if  the  little  ones  are  to  be 
adjusted  to  their  caprice,  I  fear  they  will  have  a  hard  time 
of  it  in  life,  and  will  wonder  what  they  were  born  for.    Be- 


THE   governor's   FAMILY.  87 

sides,  '  other  people '  are  a  good  ways  off,  and  have  really 
small  concern  in  Memmy  and  Bebby." 

"  We  do  not  know  how  far  off  they  are,  any  more  than 
we  do  death ;  and  we  ought  always  to  be  prepared,  as  Elder 
Jabson  says.  If  Mrs.  Mellow  should  call,  —  oh  Eichard  !  — 
Wash  your  face,  Memmy  !  —  I  am  expecting  callers  to-day. 
I  want  you  to  kinHle  a  fire  in  the  air-tight  in  the  parlor." 

Richard  went  on  this  errand,  and  the  children  followed 
him.  But  their  mother  drew  them  back,  saying,  "  You 
shall  not  go  into  the  parlor !  I  have  often  told  you  not  to  go 
into  the  parlor.  I  always  said,  if  ever  I  had  a  child,  it 
should  not  go  into  the  parlor.  I  will  have  one  place  in  the 
house  fit  to  be  in  !  " 

The  room,  into  which  Richard  had  not  been  before, 
acquired  all  at  once  a  singular  consequence  to  his  eye.  He 
looked  carefully  around  it;  he  walked  softly  over  it,  as  if 
some  rare  mystery  lurked  in  the  midst  of  it.  It  was  the 
largest  room  in  the  house,  and  apparently  the  most  open 
and  pleasant.  It  had  windows  enough,  at  least,  to  favor  the 
notion  of  light  and  freedom ;  four  of  them,  that  must  com- 
mand fine  views,  —  views,  when  the  curtains  were  up,  and 
the  ice  and  snow  were  gone.  In  the  mean  while,  as  a  sub- 
stitute for  these  out-of-door  objects,  the  curtains  afforded 
certain  attempts  at  scenery,  —  a  yellow  castle,  a  whittling  of 
a  stream  of  water ;  and  on  the  west  side,  right  in  face  of  the 
sunset,  was  a  picture  of  the  sun  setting  in  a  botch  of  green 
paint.  The  room  was  well  furnished  with  sofa,  carpet, 
looking-glass,  cane-bottomed  chairs  ;  a  mahogany  card-table 
stood  under  the  looking-glass,  containing  books,  a  card-bas- 
ket, a  small  solar  lamp,  and  several  daguerreotypes.  The 
mantel-piece  was  decorated  with  plated  candlesticks,  a  blue- 
tinted  cologne-bottle,  a  bouquet  of  wax  flowers,  and  a  stromb 
shell. 


88  RICHARD    EDNEY   A^'D 

Richard  inspected  the  contents  of  the  table.  He  found 
the  books  were  gifts,  gilded  and  embossed,  —  most  of  them 
old  ones,  and  such  as  his  sister  received  before  her  marriage. 
There  were  also  little  books,  Christmas  presents  of  the 
father  to  the  children.  On  the  sofa  lay  a  cloak  and  shawl, 
and  a  leghorn  bonnet,  trimmed  wdth  green,  and  lined  with 
flowers. 

"Well,"  thought  Richard,  "  nothing  veiy  terrible  in  this." 
Now,  our  friend  was  naturally  of  a  serious  turn  of  mind ; 
but  somehow,  at  this  time,  lighter  feelings  came  over  him, 
and  he  might  have  gone  as  far  as  a  certain  Methodist  young 
man  did,  who  was  obliged  to  confess  to  his  class-leader  the 
sin  of  perpetrating  a  joke.  At  least,  he  went  so  far  as  to 
pretend  to  joke  —  pretend  to  see  the  ludicrous  side  of  things. 
"  What  can  there  be  in  the  parlor  to  render  it  so  frightful  ? 
Will  the  chairs  fall  to  pieces  ?  "  He  shook  a  couple  of 
them.  "Are  there  trap-doors  in  the  floor,  to  let  the  children 
through  ?  "  He  tried  two  or  three  places,  springing  down 
with  his  whole  weight  on  his  heels.  "  Perhaps  the  harem- 
scarems  will  have  the  walls  down  on  their  heads  ! "  He 
sounded  different  parts  with  his  fist.  "Would  the  curtain- 
pictures  terrify  them  ?  That  is  possible,  but  it  were  easy 
to  roll  up  the  curtains,  and  there  would  be  a  fine  view  from 
the  windows.  Yes,"  he  continued,  "  this  must  be  very  fine, 
in  summer.  What  a  lake  the  dam  makes !  it  would  hold 
a  thousand  like  father's.  The  houses  and  gardens,  trees 
and  mountains,  beyond,  must  be  very  fine."  The  world 
without  sobered  him,  and  so  occupied  him  he  did  net  per- 
ceive the  entrance  of  the  children.  Somehow  they  had  got 
into  the  room,  and  Memmy  was  running  to  show  her  Christ- 
mas present,  and  Bebby  had  climbed  the  sofa,  and  got  her 
mother's  bonnet  on  backside  before,  and  her  gloves  palm 
side  up,  and  was   trying  to  -wrap   herself  in  the  cloak. 


THE    GOVERNOR  S    FAMILY.  »y 

•Richard's  humor  had  not  so  far  evaporated  but  he  enjoyed 
the  sight  of  Bebby,  and  particularly  when  she  thrust  her 
hands  through  the  cloak,  with  the  thumbs  on  the  ofT-side, 
and  the  fingers  looking  as  if  they  would  be  glad  to  accom- 
modate the  little  usurper,  but  had  laughed  themselves  to 
death  in  the  attempt,  and  had  no  strength  left.  But  this 
was  recreation  at  too  great  cost ;  too  great  for  the  mother, 
who  bolted  into  the  room,  and  soon  had  her  ambitious  child 
deplumed,  and  restored  to  its  proper  simplicity. 

"  It  troubles  you,  Roxy,"  said  Richard. 

"It  does,"  she  answered;  "and  I  think  you  and  Asa  are 
not  considerate,  —  not  considerate  of  what  we  women  en- 
dure.    You  act  as  if  we  had  n't  any  feelings ! " 

"  You  mean,  the  children  act  so." 

"  The  children  would  not  act  so  if  they  were  only  rightly 
governed ;  and  there  can  be  no  government  when  the  men 
do  not  take  hold  and  help  the  women.  —  Get  down  from  the 
sofa,  Memmy !  I  have  given  you  positive  orders  never  to 
get  on  there." 

"  What  is  the  sofa  made  for  ?  "  asked  Richard. 

"  Not  for  children  to  dirty  and  wear  out  with  their  feet. 
We  shall  have  nothing  fit  for  company  long,  at  this  rate. 
—  Put  up  that  book !  " 

"  It  is  my  present,"  replied  the  child ;  "  papa  gave  it  to 
me." 

"It  is  yours  to  keep,  not  to  be  torn  up,"  answered  the 
mother. 

Richard  began  to  think  there  was  some  fact  in  what  he 
had  regarded  as  fiction,  and  that  there  was  danger  to  the 
children  in  the  parlor.  They  touched  the  card-table,  and 
their  hands  were  snatched  off;  they  climbed  into  the  chairs, 
and  were  hastily  taken  down ;  they  approached  the  walls, 
and  were  warned  away ;  and  presently,  as  if  the  floor  itself 
8^ 


90  RICHARD    EDNEY    AND 

might  prove  treacherous,  and  let  them  incontmently  into  the 
cellar,  they  were  driven  from  the  room. 

The  street-bell  rang,  and  Richard  was  desired  to  go  to 
the  door.  He  found  there  two  ladies,  one  of  whom  sur- 
prised him  a  little  in  the  person  of  Miss  Plumy  Alicia 
Eyre.  They  were  shown  to  the  parlor,  where  his  sister 
introduced  them.  The  one  whom  he  had  never  seen  was 
Mrs.  Cyphers.  Miss  Eyre  had  on  a  small  white  silk  bon- 
net, with  pink  linings,  and  richly  ribboned  in  the  same 
color ;  a  swan's-down  victorine  floated  on  her  neck ;  her 
hands  were  quietly  hidden  in  an  African  lynx  muff.  Mrs. 
Cyphers  wore  a  straw  bonnet,  with  plaid  trimmings;  a 
drab-colored  sack,  heavily  fringed;  and  she  was  further 
insured  against  the  weather  by  a  genet  muff  and  tippet. 

What  did  these  ladies  want  ?  To  make  a  call ;  to  dis- 
charge a  ceremony ;  to  demonstrate  their  friendly  feelitig ; 
to  talk  about  the  weather,  and  say  how  cold  the  morning 
had  been,  but  that  it  was  growing  warmer  ? 

Miss  Eyre  inquired  for  the  children,  observing,  at  the 
same  time,  that  ]\Irs.  Munk  had  two  of  the  handsomest 
children  in  town. 

Now,  Mrs.  Munk  began  to  be  in  her  element ;  now  she 
would  triumph ;  now  she  would  show  Richard  the  advan- 
tage of  keeping  children  neat.  Uncle  went  for  the  dar- 
lings. Alas  for  the  uncertainty  of  human  expectations, 
and  the  probability  that  one  will  not  conquer  just  when  he 
thinks  he  is  going  to !  The  children  had  been  to  the  wet 
sink,  —  then  they  had  got  the  ash-hole  door  open,  and  poked 
out  the  ashes,  and  nibbled  at  the  coals.  But  Uncle  Rich- 
ard,—  hard-hearted  man! — brought  them  in  just  as  they 
were  I  What  consternation  !  His  sister  would  have  gone 
into  hysterics;  but  Miss  Eyre  and  Mrs.  Cyphers  said  the 
children  were  beautiful,  —  would  take  them  into  their  laps, 


THE    governor's    FAMILY.  91 

and  would  kiss  them,  and  all  that ;  and  Uncle  Richard 
would  not  take  them  away ;  nay,  he  seemed  determined 
that  Memmy  should  go  into  Miss  Eyre's  lap,  and  Bebby 
into  Mrs.  Cyphers'. 

This  scene  was  soon  ended,  and  the  children  dismissed ; 
and  both  Miss  Eyre  and  Mrs.  Cyphers  seemed  more  lively 
than  ever,  after  it.  Both  were  delighted  with  the  children ; 
and  to  such  an  extent  did  they  carry  their  good  feelings, 
that  even  Mrs.  Munk  was  willing  to  drop  the  subject  from 
her  mind  ;  and  she  soon  recovered  from  her  humiliation. 

"  Little  things,"  said  Miss  Eyre. 

"  Not  worth  minding,"  added  Mrs.  Cyphers. 

"  They  are  not  little  things,"  rejoined  Richard ;  "  and  I 
do  mind  them." 

"  You  are  joking,  Mr.  Edney,"  said  Plumy  Alicia,  who 
sat  next  to  Richard,  on  the  sofa,  and  turned  her  face  towards 
him  engagingly. 

"  He  dotes  on  the  children,"  observed  his  sister,  who  be- 
gan to  think  they  would  account  her  brother  a  dunce ;  "  and 
he  has  some  strange  notions  about  them." 

"  I  thought  our  young  men  were  not  capable  of  serious 
emotion,"  said  Plumy  Alicia,  —  "  that  they  had  no  deep  feel- 
ing." The  swan's-down  victorine,  falling  from  her  shoul- 
ders and  touching  his  hand,  was  very  soft.  There  was 
tenderness  in  her  Avords,  that  touched  him  too.  Was  he 
prepared  to  meet  those  fascinations,  of  which  he  had  ob- 
scurely heard  ?  Why  did  he  look  so  at  her  ?  Would  he 
fathom  the  nature  of  that  power  which  had,  like  some  invis- 
ible engine,  shaken  the  Mill  ?  Was  he  so  ignorant  of  him- 
self as  to  suppose  he  could  handle  that  fire  and  not  be 
burned  ?  But  Miss  Eyre  was  engaged  to  Clover,  and  he 
would  only  look  at  her  as  a  strange,  singular  being,  who 
was  soon  to  be  married  to  an  equally  mysterious  man. 


92  KICIIARD    EDNEY    AND 

Was  she  ignorant  of  the  power  she  was  capable  of  exert- 
ing ?  Was  she  insensible  of  the  precise  moment  when  it 
took  effect  ?  We  should  answer  both  these  questions  in  the 
negative. 

Miss  E}Te  was  one  who  in  certain  circles  would  be  reputed 
somewhat  coarse,  —  somewhat  unlettered.  She  certainly- 
had  not  that  refinement  which  a  more  thorough  study,  and 
training  in  some  other  form  of  society,  ordinarily  impart. 
Yet  Richard  was  not  in  a  state  to  discriminate  on  these 
points ;  or,  rather,  so  far  as  he  was  curious  at  all,  he  attend- 
ed not  so  much  the  manner  as  the  hidden  force  and  char- 
acter of  the  lady. 

It  had  been  rumored  that  Captain  Creamer  was  a  rejected 
suitor  of  Miss  Eyre's;  indeed,  so  much  as  this  had  been  inti- 
mated in  Richard's  hearing  at  the  Mill,  —  a  circumstance 
that  shed  fresh  interest  on  what  sat  near  him. 

But  what  were  these  things  to  Richard  ?  Nothing, 
nothing  at  all ;  and  he  would  probably  have  never  thought 
of  them  except, — what  we  foreboded, — except  for  the 
swan's-dov\Ti  victorine,  and  that  piercing,  flattering  ej^e. 

"  Did  I  not  see  you  in  the  crowd  at  Whichcomb's,  this 
morning  ?  "  she  asked.  Richard  answered  that  he  was  there. 
"They  said  you  were  there  in  the  night,"  she  continued; 
"but  I  could  not  believe  it."  He  replied  that  the  Captain 
obliged  him  to  keep  guard  over  the  old  man.  "  You  had 
pleasant  prisoners,"  she  said.  "  They  are  sadlj'  in  trouble," 
replied  Richard.  "  Sad  to  be  arraigned  as  common  thieves," 
was  the  answer. 

Richard  dropped  the  victorine  as  if  it  had  been  a  cold  toad, 
and  walked  towards  the  stove.  "  Would  you  bring  that 
against  them  ?  "  he  asked. 

"  Not  that  alone,  —  not  that,  without  other  things,"  replied 
Miss  Eyre.     "  I  know  what  poverty  is ;  I  am  not  ashamed 


THE    governor's    FAMILY.  93 

to  say  I  have  been  poor ;  my  only  boast  is,  that  I  have  risen 
above  difficulties." 

Kichard  was  again  touched,  but  he  did  not  resume  his 
seat  on  the  sofa. 

"  They  are  poor,"  he  said. 

"Yes,"  she  replied,  "but  that  is  not  all." 

"  Proud,  perhaps  you  would  add  ?" 

"  I  am  proud ;  I  would  not  give  much  for  a  person  that 
has  no  pride." 

"  "What  do  you  mean  ?  "  pursued  Richard. 

"  I  mean,"  she  answered,  "  that  they  have  felt  above  their 
work,  —  that  they  would  rather  do  anything  than  work." 

"  You  do  not  mean  that  they  are  vicious  ?  " 

"  I  do  not  mean  to  say  that.  They  came  here  poor,  and 
they  have  continued  poor.  But  they  could  not  find  society 
good  enough  in  the  Factories,  nor  in  the  weave-room,  nor 
in  the  superintendent's  house ;  and  they  were  but  spoolers. 
Now,  Mrs.  Cyphers  was  the  wife  of  a  superintendent ;  and 
in  alluding  to  a  house  of  that  name,  Miss  Eyre  played  off 
the  glossy  end  of  her  victorine  on  the  person  of  that  lady, 
as  much  as  to  say,  "  You  see  what  a  woman  they  rejected. 
It  seemed,"  continued  she,  "as  if  nothing  short  of  Dr. 
Chassford's,  or  Judge  Burp's,  or  the  Governor's,  would  satisfy 
them." 

"  I  do  not  know  these  people,"  replied  Richard,  "  nor  do  I 
appreciate  the  distinctions  to  which  you  refer." 

"  You  will  know,"  replied  Miss  Eyre.  "  You  have  not 
been  in  the  city  long.  They  attended  Dr.  Broadwell's 
Church,  as  if  they  were  as  good  as  the  people  that  go  there." 

"  Is  not  the  Church  one  ?  "  asked  Richard.  "  Are  not  all 
the  Churches  equal  ?  " 

"  Mr.  Edney  surely  cannot  be  so  ignorant,"  rejoined  the 
lady,  with  a  smile.     "  The  Church  is  not  one ;  it  is  far 


94  RICHARD    EDNEY   AND 

from  being  one.  It  is  a  good  many.  Some  of  the  Churches 
are  aristocratic,  while  others  keep  on  the  level  of  common 
people." 

"  Is  not  Dr.  Broadwell  a  good  man  ?" 

"  He  may  be,  for  all  that  I  know." 

"  Are  not  his  people  good  people  ?  " 

"  That  is  nothing  to  the  point.  They  are  haughty,  fash- 
ionable, high-stomached." 

"  There  may  have  been  other  reasons  why  these  girls 
liked  to  attend  there." 

"  I  dare  say  there  are ;  I  dare  say  J  unia  could  give  you 
fifty  reasons.     She  has  a  tongue  of  her  own !  " 

"  She  did  say  no  clergj^man  had  been  to  see  them." 

"  Nothing  more  likely,"  interposed  Mrs.  Cj'phers.  "  They 
boarded  a  while  at  Swindler's ;  'then  they  went  to  Cain's, 
and  finally  they  got  up  to  Whichcomb's ;  and  no  mortal 
could  tell  where  they  would  come  out,  they  rose  so  fast." 

"  Whichcomb's  is  higher  than  Swindler's  ?  "  observed 
Richard. 

"  Half  a  dollar  a  week  higher,"  replied  Mrs.  C}T)hers. 
"  Pies  for  breakfast  higher,  —  an  extra  course  of  a  Sunday 
higher;  to  say  nothing  of  Mrs.  Whichcomb's  jellies  and 
cream.  /  boarded  at  Whichcomb's,  I  would  have  you  to 
know,  until  our  marriage." 

"  There  would  seem  to  be  aristocracy  among  the  board- 
ing-houses," said  Richard, 

"  Who  would  not  try  to  keep  above  the  mean,  ignorant, 
stupid  Swindler's  ?  "  asked  Mrs.  Cyphers.  "  And  there  is  a 
difference,  Sir,  there  is  a  difference  between  the  weave-room 
and  the  warping-room,  —  between  a  dresser  and  a  grinder; 
and,  though  I  say  it  that  should  n't  say  it,  between  a  super- 
intendent's wife  and  the  watchman's  wife." 

"All  have  the  liberty  to  rise  that  wish  to? "  said  Richard. 


THE    GOVERNOK'S    FAMILY.  95 

"  All  that  deserve  to ! "  replied  Miss  Eyre,  casting  a 
searching,  but  rather  equivocal,  glance  at  Richard. 

But  Richard  did  not  notice  it;  he  was  thinking  of  the 
Orphans.  "  Violet  is  very  sick."  The  ladies  assented. 
"  She  needs  attentions." 

"If  Junia  does  not  engross  them  all,"  added  ]\Iiss  Eyre. 
She  added  this  in  a  way  that  sjie  meant  to  be  playful ;  but 
Richard  took  it  quite  seriously. 

"  You  are  unjust  to  them,"  said  Richard ;  —  he  said  this 
sternly. 

"  We  would  not  be,"  replied  Miss  Eyre,  deprecatingly. 
Richard  added  nothing. 

"  We  have  other  calls  in  hand,"  said  Miss  Eyre,  "  and 
must  bid  you  good-morning." 

They  left  the  house ;  Miss  Eyre  went  out  with  that 
calmness  which  dignified  sorrow  can  so  well  assume.  But 
Richard  was  not  moved. 

Having  discovered  where  the  Orphans  were  wont  to  wor- 
ship, he  would  go  and  see  the  minister  of  the  church.  He 
found  the  reverend  gentleman  at  home.  Doctor  Broadwell 
was  of  mature  years,  —  indeed,  a  little  past  the  meridian  of 
life.  But  time,  that  crowned  him  with  virtues  and  honors, 
had  raised  the  summit  so  high,  —  if  the  little^iece  of  fancy 
will  be  tolerated,  —  the  top  of  it  was  covered  with  snow. 
He  was  gray.  The  lines  on  his  forehead  were  marks  of 
strength  not  less  than  of  age  ;  they  indicated  rather  the 
vigor  of  thought  than  the  corrosions  of  decay;  like  the 
furrows  of  the  sea,  which  are  large  and  deep  only  because 
the  sea  is  large  and  deep.  His  face  shone  with  benevolence, 
that  cheered  and  vivified  whatever  object  it  alighted  upon, 
and  invited  to  its  beams  all  sorrow,  want  and  desolateness. 
The  Doctor  replied  to  Richard  that  two  girls,  with  an  old 
man,  had  been  seen  at  his  church,  and  partaken  of  his  com- 


96  RICHARD   EDNEY,   ETC. 

munion;  that  he  had  endeavored  to  see  them,  but  could 
not  trace  them,  and  would  be  glad  to  be  conducted  to  their 
room. 

They  went  to  Whichcomb's,  where  Richard  parted  with 
the  minister,  and  returned  home. 


CHAPTER    VII. 


In  popular  phrase,  the  back  of  the  winter  was  broken. 
The  weather  became  milder,  the  mornings  grew  a  little 
longer,  and  the  evenings  a  little  shorter,  and  the  sun  at  noon 
mounted  a  trifle  higher.     The  vulgar  distich  runs  thus  — 

"  When  the  days  begin  to  lengthen, 
The  cold  begins  to  strengthen." 

This  is  true  of  the  few  weeks  immediately  succeeding  the 
Solstice.  But  in  the  latter  part  of  February,  and  towards 
March,  the  change  to  which  we  have  referred  is  so  percep- 
tible, that  the  popular  voice  changes, —  "What  mild 
weather  !  How  warm  it  is  !  "  though  it  is  winter  still ;  but 
winter  maimed  —  winter  inefficient. 

At  these  times  Richard  went  out  more  during  the  day. 
He  had,  indeed,  turned  night  into  day,  and  was  obliged  to 
sleep  partly  by  sunlight ;  but  he  could  secure  what  rest  he 
required,  and  still  have  some  hours  to  spare.  These  were 
his  perquisites,  and  he  employed  them  as  he  chose. 

One  day,  as  he  entered  the  mill,  he  encountered  Mr. 
Gouch,  Silver,  and  Philemon,  his  fellow  night's  men,  and 
he  saw  another  person,  whom  he  had  not  seen  before, 
striding  a  log.  "  That,"  whispered  Mr.  Gouch,  "  is  Clover; 
don't  go  near  him !  "  But  Richard  could  not  be  easy 
when  he  knew  Clover  was  near ;  at  least,  he  could  not  keep 
his  eyes  or  his  thoughts  still.  He  looked  at  Clover; 
looked  quite  intently  at  him.  "  Don't  let  him  see  you 
looking  at  him  ! "  said  Mr.  Gouch.     Well,  Richard  must 


RICHARD   EDNEY   AND 


look  at  him  all  the  more,  — only  he  did  it  furtively,  and  by 
snatches.  What  did  he  behold  ?  A  man  with  a  very  care- 
less, indifferent  manner,  bordering  on  malapertness  and 
doughtiness.  His  face  was  one  that  could  be  easily  identi- 
fied. His  lower  lip  rowdyishly  protruded;  it  was  a  pouch 
containing  a  quid  of  tobacco  as  large  as  a  pullet's  egg.  His 
upper  lip  was  deeply  indented  at  each  corner,  making  two 
niches,  where  scorn  and  derision  were  seated.  He  held  a 
cant-dog,  with  which  he  amused  himself,  drawing  frightful 
figures  in  the  saw-dust  on  the  floor :  then  he  teazed  a  butter 
with  it,  making  as  if  he  would  thrust  it  under  his  axe.  He  had 
on  a  Shakspeare  hat,  with  the  rim  turned  up  at  the  sides,  and 
a  silver  buckle  in  front ;  and  the  hat  was  tilted  so  much  on 
his  head,  it  seemed  as  if  it  would  fall  off.  His  dress  con- 
sisted of  a  blue-striped  shirt  with  a  large  collar,  a  double- 
breasted  vest,  and  a  mottled  Guernsey  jacket.  But  what, 
perhaps,  would  chiefly  arrest  the  notice  of  a  stranger  was 
his  hair;  —  his 'whole  head  seemed  to  have  gone  to  hair;  it 
hung  in  long,  coarse  folds,  like  a  mop ;  it  came  out  along 
his  cheeks,  and  under  his  nose  and  chin.  It  was  bright 
red;  and  his  srtiall,  gray  eye  gleamed  in  the  midst  of  it, 
like  a  pig's  eye.  Not  only  did  he  annoy  the  butter  with 
the  cant-dog,  but,  intermitting  this  fancy,  he  would  occasion- 
ally double  his  fist  at  the  poor  man,  straightening  his  chest, 
drawing  up  and  squaring  at  him,  as  if  he  would  fight  him. 
He  bent  his  fist  inwards  and  upwards,  thus  tightening  the 
cords  of  his  wrist,  and  stiffening  the  skin  on  his  knuckles ; 
and  in  this  strained  attitude  he  played  it  up  and  down,  now 
inclining  it  towards  his  victim,  and  then  thvunping  it 
against  the  log  on  which  he  sat ;  letting  off",  apparently,  a 
vast  amount  of  force  and  dismay  into  the  insensible  wood. 
The  butter  took  all  this  patiently,  either  from  indifference 


THE    GOVERNOR  S    FAMILY.  »S# 

to  Clover,  or  out  of  terror  of  him  —  Richard  could  not  tell 
which. 

Most  of -the  hands  were,  or  affected  to  be,  afraid  of  Clo- 
ver. Richard  was  inquisitive  as  to  the  secret  of  the  man's 
power  —  whether  it  lay  in  his  manner,  or  his  character. 
Nor  was  his  interest  cooled  by  observing  that  Clover  flung 
several  significant  glances  at  himself,  and  did  some  feats  of 
fist,  which  he  evidently  meant  Richard  should  give  a  per- 
sonal interpretation  to. 

He  asked  Mr.  Gouch  to  introduce  him ;  but  the  timorous 
head-stock  man  declined  the  service.  When  Richard  per- 
sisted, and  said  he  would  speak  with  Clover,  Silver  sprang 
at  his  throat,  as  if  he  would  choke  him,  and  told  him  to  keep 
still.  Philemon  made  as  if  Silver  was  in  earnest,  and  said 
he  had  Richard  within  an  inch  of  his  life,  and  it  was  his 
dutj'  to  stop  so  dangerous  an  affray. 

Clover  himself  started  at  this,  and  called  out  for  fair  play, 
or  something  of  the  sort.  "  It  is  all  play,"  said  Richard ; 
"  do  not  be  alarmed."  "  I  am  not  alarmed,"  replied  Clover, 
resuming  his  seat  on  the  log,  and  discharging  the  cavity  of 
his  lower  lip,  which  ever,  like  a  boiling  spring,  was  inclined 
to  run  over.  "  I  should  like  to  see  the  man  that  tells  me  I 
am  alarmed ;  new  comer  or  old  comer,  —  slip-tender  or 
head-stock  man  ! " 

Richard,  going  towards  Clover,  replied,  "  Silver  was  in 
sport." 

"  0/ course,"  rejoined  Clover;  "he  dare  do  nothing  else 
but  be  in  sport,  o/" course.  You  may  make  a  mark  there, .if 
you  will !  " 

"  I  believe  I  have  your  place  in  the  mill,"  said  Richard; 
"  possibly  you  would  like  to  take  it  again." 

"  I  shall  take  it  whenever  I  please,"  returned  Clover. 


100  RICHARD    EDXEY   AND 

"  As  soon  as  you  are  able  to  take  it,  I  will  relinquish  it 
to  you." 

"  Able  !  "  he  retorted ;  "  I  am  able  when  I  please  to  be 
able.     Check  that !  " 

"  Have  you  entirely  recovered  ?  "  asked  Richard. 

"Recovered!"  He  echoed  the  word  with  a  very  sharp 
sarcasm  playing  about  his  upper  lip,  which  Richard  did  not 
see  any  necessity  for. 

"  You  have  been  sick  ?  "  Richard  asked. 

"  Worse  than  that,  —  I  have  been  indisposed." 

"  I  thought  you  were  sick." 

"  0/ course,  I  meant  you  should  think  so,  —  I  meant  the 
Captain  should  think  so,  — I  meant  the  whole  Mill  should 
think  so.     Trig  that,  and  take  breath  !  " 

"  I  am  ready  to  go  on  again,"  replied  Richard,  waggishly. 

"  Do  you  mean  to  insult  me,  Edney  ? "  asked  Clover,  his 
eyes  flashing  fire. 

"  Do  you  mean  to  insult  me  ?"  replied  Richard. 

"  How  insult  you  ?  " 

"  By  making  me  believe  you  were  sick,  when  j'ou  were 
not  sick." 

"  I  can  give  myself  to  you  in  one  word,  Edney ;  I  can 
convey  the  whole  in  a  single  phrase  ;  I  am  a  man  of  honor ; 
I  wish  to  be  honorable.     Tie  a  knot  there !  " 

"  I  will,"  rephed  Richard ;  "  and  then  I  must  ask  you 
how  you  can  call  such  conduct  honorable." 

"  Enlargement,  aggrandizement,  glorj^,  fame,  are  natural 
to  the  human  breast ;  they  are  natural  to  my  breast.  Power, 
might,  are  honorable  ;  and  these  I  study  to  exercise.  To 
make  you  believe  I  am  sick,  when  I  am  sick,  is  nothing,  —  a 
child  could  do  that ;  but  if  I  can  make  you  believe  I  am  sick, 
when  I  am  not  sick,  —  if  I  can  make  the  Captain  believe  it, 


THE  governor's  F'Amily.  ;  ],Q1 

and  the  whole  Mill  believe  it,  —  I  do  something;  I  exercise 
power  ;  I  am  enlarged  !  " 

Clover  had  the  habit  of  talking  sometimes  apparently  in 
Italics,  sometimes  in  small  caps,  and  occasionally  mounting 
as  high  as  canon.     We  would  do  him  typographical  justice. 

"  You  would  not  lie  ? "  observed  Richard. 

"Lie!  lie!"  replied  Clover;  "Z/e.'  hem!  hum!  You 
mistake.     'T  is  means,  means  !  " 

"  It  is  lying,"  remarked  Richard. 

"  If  you  were  in  an  enemy's  country,  Avould  you  stick  at 
what  you  call  a  lie,  to  secure  your  conquest  ?  Did  not 
our  troops  tell,  utter,  manufacture,  publish,  a  hundred  lies, 
in  Mexico  ?  Are  they  to  be  taunted  with  lying  ?  I  am 
in  Mexico ;  I  am  in  an  enemy's  country,  and  I  shall  lie  to 
further  my  victories  :  but  are  you  mean  enough  —  have  you 
no  nicer  sense  of  honor  than  to  asperse  my  acts  with  the 
villanous  epithets  which  a  bilious  stomach  and  morbid 
imagination  know  so  well  how  to  supply  ?  Power  is  sweet ; 
might  is  glorious  ;  —  it  gives  a  man  reputation  ;  it  affords  him 
security  ;  it  protects  him  from  assault.  Look  round  you ; 
there  is  not  one  in  all  this  mill,  from  Tillington,  of  the  Cor- 
poration, down  to  Jim  Grisp,  the  shingle-sticker,  that  dares 
touch  me.  I  have  acquired  this  respect  simply  by  the  exer- 
cise of  my  power,  —  by  demonstrating  to  the  world  the  deep 
energies  of  my  nature  and  character."  In  saying  this,  he 
gored  the  air,  with  his  tense,  vice-like  fist,  hi  the  vicinity  of 
Richard,  and  even  extended  it  almost  to  Richard's  nose. 

Richard  shook  his  head,  not  violently,  not  disdainfully, 
but  rather  abstractedly,  as  a  man  who  is  reading  does  when 
a  fly  alights  on  his  face.  Clover  had  a  trick  of  snapping 
his  fist,  springing  it  suddenly  in  the  joint  of  the  wrist,  as 
boys  do  the  blade  of  a  pocket-knife.  He  snapped  it  at 
Richard,  who  moved  a  little  in  his  seat.  "  Perhaps  you  do 
9* 


M/^\''   '■'■'.'  ,    EFPA^D    SDNEY    AND 

not  like  the  smell  of  it  ?  "  said  Clover.  "  I  cannot  say  that 
I  do,"  replied  Richard.  "  Very  likelj^"  he  added  ;  "  and 
the  taste  of  it  would  be  still  more  disagreeable.  But  I  de- 
sign you  no  harm.  The  air  is  free  ;  and  what  my  arm  can 
compass  is  mine.  I  know  I  am  on  the  borders  of  my  land. 
I  do  not  wish  to  get  up  a  fight  with  you,  or  any  one  ;  but  if 
your  nose  happens  to  come  within  the  radius  of  my  fist,  — 
that  is,  if  you  are  lying  within  the  proper  limit  of  my  power, 
—  why,  take  care  of  yourself,  Sir,  take  care  of  yourself ! 
Forewarned,  forearmed.  I  trust  you  will  regard  it  an  in- 
stance of  my  honorable  disposition,  that  I  give  you  this 
friendly  precaution." 

"  I  think  you  trespass  on  neighbors'  rights  a  little,"  ob- 
served Richard.     "  At  least,  you  are  on  disputed  territory." 

"  I  know  I  am,"  he  rejoined  ;  "  I  know  I  am ;  and  where 
was  Resaca  de  la  Palma?  Where  was  Palo  Alto? 
There  is  no  great  action  except  on  disputed  territory ;  no 
reputation  is  acquired  anywhere  else." 

The  fist  continued  to  exhibit  its  feats,  and  to  extend  its 
familiarities  a  little  too  near  Richard's  sense  of  dignity.  He 
laid  his  hand  on  the  fist, — his  open  hand,  —  softly  and 
modestly.  He  found  it  a  hard  and  horny  fist ;  and  in  other 
respects  it  had  a  bovine  suggestion  ;  for,  like  the  horn  of  an 
ox,  no  matter  how  softly  and  modestly  you  grasp  it,  it  is 
sure  to  toss,  and  wrench,  and  tear  from  your  hand ;  —  so 
this  fist  resisted  the  gentlest  pressure ;  it  grew  more  stiff, 
it  hunched  violently  upwards,  grazing  Richard's  nose,  and 
hitting  the  forepiece  of  his  cap,  knocked  it  off." 

"I  would  rather  you  should  not  do  that,"  said  Richard; 
"  I  should  very  much  prefer  that  you  would  not  repeat  it. 
I  must  respectfully  request  you  to  attempt  it  again  in  no 
form  whatever." 

"  I  did  not  think  of  knocking  up  a  fight,"  rejoined  Clover. 


THE    governor's    FAMILY.  103 

•'  I  am  no  brute,  —  I  am  a  man  of  honor ;  I  am  ready  to 
negotiate.  Shall  we  adjourn  to  the  Arbor  ?  Helskill's  is 
good  ground  for  an  amicaWe  adjustment."-  Richard  would 
not  go  to  the  Arbor.  "  Well,"  added  Clover,  "  if  you  obsti- 
nately reject  the  only  method  of  conciliation  that  I  can  with 
honor  to  myself  tender,  the  consequences  be  on  your  own 
head.  But  I  am  not  rash  ;  I  will  not  even  take  advantage 
of  methods  of  redress  which  all  usage  puts  in  my  hands.  I 
can  be  lenient.    Will  you  have  a  cigar  ?  "    Richard  declined. 

"Don't  be  mulish,"  continued  Clover.  "Will  you  lift 
with  me?"  "  I  will,"  said  Richard.  "There  is  a  good- 
sized  hemlock  stick ;  if  you  will  manage  one  end,  we  will 
throw  it  on  the  stocks."  "  I  am  ready,"  replied  Richard, 
The  saAvj^ers  consented  to  the  trial,  and  gauged  the  car- 
riage to  the  log  in  question.  "  Take  that  end,"  said 
Clover.  "  This  is  the  butt,"  replied  Richard.  "  I  know 
it  is,"  returned  Clover,  "  and  I  meant  it  should  be."  "  All 
right,"  said  Richard,  "  if  you  will  take  hold  as  far  in  from 
the  other  end  as  to  make  the  balance  good."  "I  will  not 
be  dictated  to,  in  this  affair,"  retorted  Clover,  and  applied 
himself  to  the  extremity  of  the  smallest  end.  "You  take 
the  butt,"  said  Richard,  "  and  I  will  lift  where  the  trial 
shall  be  a  fair  one."     Clover  refused. 

By  this  time  the  mill-men  had  collected  to  see  what  was 
going  on.  Richard  stated  the  case  to  them,  and  then 
repeated  his  offer  to  Clover.  Clover  disdained  to  concede, 
or  to  parley.  "  'T  was  an  honorable  proposal,"  said  he,  — 
"  nothing  said  about  ends,  —  I  will  have  none  of  this  whin- 
ing, —  he  cannot  gammon  me  !  " 

"Will  you  lift  fairly,  or  will  you  not?"  asked  Richard. 

"  I  shall  lift  it  as  I  please,"  returned  Clover. 

"  Then  I  brand  you,"  said  Richard,  "  for  a  cheat,  a  brute, 
and  a  coward ;  —  put  a  pin  in  there  !    I  cannot  blacken  you. 


104  RICHARD    EDXEY    AST) 

,  —  you  are  too  black  already  ;  I  should  only  like  to  have  you 
'  see  how  black  you  ac^ ;  —  put  a  spike  in  there  !  Your  con- 
duct is  despicable  as  your  principles  are  monstrous  ;  —  I  rec- 
ommend to  you  to  drive  a  slide-dog  there,  and  go  home  ! " 

The  bystanders  were  a  good  deal  excited.  Mr.  Gouch 
hopped  from  log  to  log,  as  if  they  were  in  the  water,  and  he 
was. afraid  of  sinking.  Silver,  in  a  paroxysm  of  astonish- 
ment and  delight,  let  his  pipe  fall  from  his  mouth.  Some 
were  amused ;  others  manifested  a  disposition  to  rally  for 
the  defence  of  Richard,  if  Clover  should  attack  him. 

But  Clover  had  no  such  intentions.  He  had  not  made  up 
his  mind  to  be  offended.  He  seemed  to  recognize  a  rival  in 
the  field  ;  and  since  he  could  not  easily  demolish  him,  he 
accounted  it  wise  to  come  to  an  understanding  of  his  qual- 
ity, and  ascertain  his  intentions. 

"  I  applaud  your  spirit,  Edney,"  said  he,  "  though  j'ou 
misjudge  me.  I  shall  think  the  better  of  you.  I  should  like 
to  know  more  of  you.     Will  you  try  a  game  of  checkers  ?  " 

Now,  it  was  contrary  to  immemorial  and  sacred  mill  usage 
to  decline  a  game  of  this  sort,  when  the  men  were  at  leisure. 
Richard  might  have  foregone  further  intimacy  with  the 
man ;  but  the  others,  desirous  that  he  should  not  carry  mat- 
ters too  far,  hoped  he  would  play.  Perhaps  he  wished  to 
know  more  of  Clover,  —  for  he  had  a  good  deal  of  humani- 
tarian curiosity.     He  consented  to  the  proposal. 

They  took  a  bench  by  the  stove,  with  the  draught- 
board between  them.  Clover  was  an  experienced  player, 
and  so.  was  Richard ;  but  it  soon  appeared  the  minds  of  both 
were  too  much  occupied  for  that  deliberation  which  is  need- 
ful either  for  the  display  of  skill  or  the  attainment  of  suc- 
cess. Their  moves  w^ere  made  at  random,  and  an  acci- 
dental jar  of  the  board  served  to  confuse  the  whole  plan  of 
actign,  without,  at  the  same  time,  awakening  the  surprise 


THE    GOVERNOE's    FAMILY.  105 

of  either.  In  fact,  they  were  thinking'  more  of  each  other 
than  of  what  was  before  them.  "  Where  are  we  now  ? " 
said  Richard.  "  I  don't  know,"  answered  Clover ;  "  my 
pieces  are  on  the  floor." 

Richard  nursed  some  questions  that  he  wanted  to  put  to 
Clover.  And,  as  the  loungers  had  left  the  mill,  and  he  was 
sitting  confidentially  near  him,  he  could  not  resist  the  oppor- 
tunity of  broaching  what  lay  on  his  mind. 

"What  ails  Silver?"  he  asked. 

"  He  fell  beneath  my  hands'.  "  replied  Clover. 

"  What  do  you  mean  by  that  ?  "  asked  Richard. 

"  His  ambition  fell,  his  affections  fell,  his  excessive  thirst 
for  acquisition  fell,"  rejoined  Clover,  who  had  lighted  a 
cigar,  cocked  his  hat,  and  made  some  eflfort  towards  getting 
his  fist  into  operation. 

"  How  did  it  come  about  ?  " 

"  I  entered  and  took  possession  of  a  valuable  prize  he 
coveted." 

"  What  was  it  ?  " 

"  Miss  Plumy  Alicia  Eyre." 

"  Did  he  love  her?" 

"  Of  course  he  did;  I  should  not  care  to  meddle  in  the 
thing,  if  he  had  not  loved  her,  and  if  she  had  not  been  an 
object  to  be  loved." 

"  You  cut  him  out  ?  " 

"  That  is  the  cant  phrase.  The  simple  truth  lies  here  :  — 
woman  is  given  to  man  for  possession  on  his  part,  and  pro- 
tection on  hers.  The  man  who  can  furnish  the  best  guaran- 
tees, in  these  two  particulars,  is  the  favored  man ;  and  the 
most  desirable  woman  falls  to  the  most  favored  man,  —  that 
is,  to  the  strongest  man.  I  am  such  a  man,  and  Silver  is 
not.  Of  course.  Miss  Eyre  preferred  to  be  allied  to  me, 
rather  than  remain  in  Silver's  hands.     She  knew  that  her 


106  RICHARD    EDNEY    AND 

true   dignity  and  glory  lay  in  this  breast,  within    these 

WHISKERS  !  " 

"  Had  Silver  no  feelings  ?  " 

"  What  has  he  to  do  with  feelings  ?  Why  does  he  not 
conquer  his  feelings  ?  Why  does  he  not  let  the  will  of  God 
be  done  to  his  feelings  ?  " 

"  Was  she  consulted  in  the  premises  ?  " 

"Of  course  she  was,  —  and  she  declared  for  me." 

"  Was  there  an  engagement  between  them  ?  " 

"  There  may  have  been  something  of  that  sort.  She 
came  here  a  poor,  defenceless  girl,  and  was  naturally  inter- 
ested in  any  one  that  would  be  interested  in  her.  Silver 
attached  himself  to  her,  made  her  presents,  and  won  over 
her  ignorance  and  childishness.  I  took  her  under  my  pro- 
tection." 

"  But  Silver  suffers." 

"  The  weak  always  suffer ;  it  is  their  misfortune  ;  we  can 
pity  them.  I  see  you  have  a  noble  nature,  Edney ;  a  na- 
ture that  is  not  insensible  even  to  what  Silver  may  endure. 
It  is  honorable  in  you." 

"  He  bleeds  inwardly,  I  think." 

"  Bleeds  !  what  is  that  ?  The  Indians  bleed  when  their 
lands  are  torn  from  them,  —  the  slaves  bleed  when  their 
children  are  sold.     What  hurt  does  a  little  bleeding  do  ? " 

"  But  is  there  no  right   in  the  case  ?  " 

"  Most  assuredly.  Might  makes  right.  Behold  how  that 
saw  cuts  through  the  heart  and  surface  of  that  monster 
pine.  Behold  the  majestic  Scott  cutting  his  way  through 
the  heart  of  Mexico  ;  —  veins,  arteries,  legs,  arms,  like  saw- 
dust, lie  on  either  side  of  him  ;  he  arrives  at  the  Halls  of  the 
Montezumas  in  a  foam  of  blood !  that  proud  nation  is 
humiliated  at  our  feet !  I  have  gone  through  Silver's  heart. 
When  I  was  in  it,  I  felt  that  I  was  there,  —  I  felt  the  warm 


THE  governor's  FAMILV.  107 

blood  spouting  about  me,  —  I  knew  I  severed  the  tenderest 
part  of  his  being ;  but,  Sir,  I  attained  my  end,  —  I  got  Miss 
Eyre.  They  gave  a  dinner  to  Captain  Bragg.  I  offer 
'  Clover,'  as  your  next  toast. 

"  Do  you  intend  to  build  ? " 

"  I  may  build,  and  I  may  not  build." 

"It  is  given  out  that  you  are  going  to." 

"  I  know  it  is,  —  I  meant  it  should  be.  The  dimension* 
are  on  the  fender-post." 

•'  But  would  you  deceive  ?  " 

"  If  I  could  make  it  honorable,  I  would  deceive ;  if  my 
interest  were  advanced  thereby,  if  my  power  was  augment- 
ed, I  should  deceive.  Deceive!  The  Church  deceives, 
when  it  can  make  by  it.  Edney,  you  don't  know  the  dear, 
lovely,  charming  sense  of  power." 

"  How  does  the  Church  deceive  ?  " 

"  Does  n't  it  declare  that  St.  Athanasius'  Creed  can  bs 
proved  by  most  certain  warrants  of  Scripture,  and  ought  to 
be  thoroughly  received  ?     Who  believes  that  ?  " 

"  Possibly  you  would  falsify  your  promises  to  Miss  Eyre 
herself?" 

"  Falsify  !  I  should  certainlj'-  retreat  from  my  engage- 
ments, if  I  found  them  difficult  or  disagreeable.  I  must  be 
sovereign  within  my  own  sphere ;  and  my  sphere  is  what 
my  abilities  naturally  comprise,  or  what  my  endeavors  can 
conquer.  I  am  fated  to  spread,  —  I  am  fated  to  spreao, 
Edney  !  I  might  include  even  another  with  Miss  Plumy 
Alicia." 

"You  are  not  so  unprincipled.  You  would  not  pretend 
fidelity  to  Miss  Eyre,  and  at  the  same  time  be  making  over- 
tures to  another." 

"  What  if  I  had  tioo  loomen  in  my  train?  I  should  ap- 
pear to  the  world  in  a  more  formidable  light,  as  a  man  dan- 


109  RICHARD   EDNEY   AND 

gerous  to  be  trifled  with,  and  yet  a  perfect  refuge  for 
oppression." 

"I  believe  you  are  a  scoundrel,  Clover,  —  utterly,  and 
beyond  redemption." 

"  You  do  well  to  tell  me  so  ;  —  it  will  not  hurt  you ;  it  may 
relieve  you.  You  do  not  know  the  deliciousness,  the  ma- 
jesty of  Power.  See  that  saw,  —  behold  yonder  dam,  — 
think  of  six  run  of  stone  in  the  Grist-mill,  —  enumerate 
all  the  engines  in  the  Machine-shop,  —  contemplate  nine 
hundred  thousand  spindles  in  the  Factories,  and  understand 
Avhat  Power  is.  Meditate  on  this  fist  of  mine,  —  look  into 
my  eye,  —  take  the  dimensions  of  my  whiskers,  —  survey  the 
expansiveness  of  my  chest,  and  learn  what  POWER  is.  Im- 
agine what  it  would  be  to  be  possessed  of  the  same.  Imag- 
ine yourself  a  Clover  !  What  a  wonder  is  that  Tom  Hyer  ! 
I  have  sometimes  fancied  myself  a  Hyer,  and  should  like  to 
find  my  Sullivan.  I  have  toughened  my  hands, —  I  have 
employed  two  Irishmen  to  rub  my  body,  —  I  have  smeared 
my  face  with  an  indurating  compound.  I  should  like  to  have 
a  Sullivan  chasing  me  from  saw  to  saw,  from  Mill  to  Board- 
ing-house, from  Quiet  Arbor  to  Victoria-square  !  Under- 
take Sullivan,  and  your  Hyer  will  be  on  hand  !  " 

"I  may  prove  a  Sullivan,"  replied  Richard;  "I  may 
chase  you." 

"If,  then,  you  provoke  me  to  it;  if  we  come  fairly  to 
blows,  — I  must  be  plain  with  you,  and  use  plain  words, — 
you  will  get  all-firedly  licked ;  —  take  note,  take  note  !  " 

"  That  is  my  look-out,"  returned  Richard.  "  I  shall  be 
plain  with  you.  You  are  committing  an  uncommon  amount 
of  rascality  with  Silver ;  you  are  equally  perfidious  in  respect 
of  Miss  Eyre.  And  I  shall  pursue  you  in  that  matter  until, 
most  likely,  we  come  to  blows.  Then,  all  I  have  to  say  to 
you  is,  '  Hardest,  fend  off ! '    I  shall  attempt  to  disgorge  you 


THE    governor's    FAMILY.  109 

of  some  of  j'our  ill-gotten  possessions,  and  diminish  the  su- 
perfluity of  your  power.  I  am  a  stranger  in  the  place,  —  a 
stranger  to  goings  on  here,  — a  stranger  to  all  parties  con- 
cerned. But  5'ou  have  introduced  me  to  a  measure  of 
wickedness  sufficient  to  move  me,  —  sufficient  to  resolve 
me." 

"  I  sought  you  as  a  noble  antagonist." 

"  I  do  not  intend  to  be  a  disguised  or  a  m.ean  one." 

"  Will  you  go  with  me  to  Quiet  Arbor  ? " 

"What' for  f" 

"  To  exchange  tokens  of  friendly  understanding,  and  hon- 
orable emulation." 

"  Over  a  glass  of  sling  ?  " 

"  Yes,  and  a  game  of  whist." 

"  You  gamble  ?  " 

"  I  recreate,  recreate  !  " 

"  Who  is  with  you  ?  " 

"  A  select  company,  of  course  ;  Captain  Creamer,  Web- 
ster Chassford,  Glendar,  —  all  worthy  m.en, — all  charm- 
ing acquaintances, — the  best  families  in  the  cit}'.  We 
meet  in  the  Grotto,  —  a  cool  and  pleasant  retreat ;  Helskdl  is 
polite,  gentlemanly,  noble  ;  yes,  I  would  say  of  Helskill, 
that  he  is  most  noble,  —  that  in  him  cluster  every  attribute 
and  all  the  beauty  of  an  honorable  mind." 

"  I  am  obliged  to  you  for  this  information,"  said  Eichard, 
"  and  I  will  make  good  use  of  it." 

"  That  is  well  uttered,  Edney.  If  I  must  meet  you  as  an 
enemy,  let  us  be  fair  enemies.  But  I  must  caution  you  on 
one  point,  — Let  Miss  Eyre  alone ! "  He  said  this  in  a  hard- 
breathed  undertone.  "  Don't  meddle  with  that,  —  don't 
go  near  that,  —  death  catch  you  if  you  do !  I  will  not 
touch  my  thumb  to  my  nose,  as  modem  writers  recommend, 
10 


110  RICHARD    EDNEY,    ETC. 

in  tol<en  that  we  understand  one  another;  —  I  will  rub  my 
fist  on  your  nose,  to  signify  that  I  " 

Eichard  brushed  off  the  fist,  and  rising  from  his  seat,  said, 
"  No  symbols  are  needed ;  we  do  understand  each  other," 
and  left  the  mill. 


CHAPTER  VIII. 

A   STROLL   THROTTGH   THE    CITY. 

Richard,  we  have  said,  had  leisure  during  the  day.  This 
leisure  he  would  turn  to  account;  he  would  look  about  the 
city.  Richard,  we  need  not  say,  loved  to  read ;  he  had 
read  not  a  little  for  a  simple,  agricultural  lad,  and  he  was 
always  glad  to  get  new  books.  Pity  he  should  not  have 
them,  when  there  is  such  an  abundance.  Richard  had 
been  over  the  world  at  some  length,  in  his  geographies  and 
histories ;  he  had  travelled  with  attention  and  with  profit ; 
yet  with  his  own  feet  and  walking-stick  he  had  measured 
but  a  few  leagues  of  human  affairs,  —  the  merest  crumb  of 
the  great  ball.  He  had  never  been  in  the  business  streets 
of  Woodylin,  nor  in  its  fashionable  squares.  So  he  sallied 
forth,  one  sunny  morning,  to  reconnoitre. 

Woodylin  consisted  of  two  portions, — the  Old  and  the 
New  Town,  —  divided  by  the  River.  The  New  Town  com- 
prised the  Factories  and  Saw-mills,  which  lay  in  a  graceful 
and  polite  bend  of  the  stream.  Yet  both  sides  lived  in  har- 
mony, and  strangers  used  to  say  but  one  pulse  beat  there, 
whether  in  the  head  or  feet.  Nevertheless,  fancy  and  caprice 
must  dash  this  pleasant  cup  of  unity  with  a  little  variety. 
As  the  New  Town  increased  in  size,  and  perhaps  in  conceit, 
since  it  possessed  many  picturesque  spots,  and  indulged  in 
much  picturesque  promise,  its  inhabitants  called  it  the 
Beauty  of  Woodylin.  It  became  a  standing  quip  (or  one  to 
say  he  did  not  live  in  Woodylin,  but  in  the  Beauty  of  it. 
If  one   side   was  the   city  proper,  the   other  would  seem 


112  HICHARD   EDNEY   AND 

to  be  the  city  improper.  It  would  not  stop  at  this ;  it 
meant  to  be  the  city  more  proper.  It  erected  a  School- 
house  unequalled  in  the  municipality.  It  hoped  to  do 
many  more  things ;  but  it  is  not  so  easy  to  work  with  hopes, 
as  with  a  well-earned  fruition ;  it  had  nothing  equal  to  Victo- 
ria-square. Elder  Jabson's  Church  was  on  the  Beauty  side. 
Here  was  one  of  the  Printing-offices,  to  which  we  may 
again  refer.  On  this  bank,  also,  was  the  Light-house,  — 
a  circumstance  that  originated  innumerable  smart  sayings. 
The  Custom-house  divided  its  favors  with  both  shores. 
The  Beauty  people  built  an  Athenaeum,  founded  a  library, 
and  supported  a  course  of  lectures,  to  match  the  Lyceum 
across  the  River.  Here  also  a  division  of  the  Sons  of  Tem- 
perance had  sumptuous  apartments.  Yet  as  the  sun  and 
rain,  summer  and  winter,  were  alike  on  both  sides  of  the 
valley,  so  the  greater  interests,  affections,  and  preferences 
of  the  people,  coalesced. 

The  Beauty  side  afforded  less  to  engage  the  curiosity  of 
a  country  youth,  like  Richard,  than  the  other.  So  he 
crossed  the  stream.  In  a  rambling  way,  he  paused  to  look 
into  a  precinct,  known  as  Knuckle  Lane  ;  —  a  dismal  region, 
the  sewer  of  poverty,  filth  and  wretchedness, — a  sort  of 
Jews'  quarter,  where  the  cast-off  clothes  of  the  city  —  its 
old  houses,  old  garments,  old  furniture,  old  horses  —  were 
collected,  and  if  not  exposed  for  sale,  were  certainly  exposed 
to  everything  else. 

Now,  Richard's  teacher  at  the  Village  High  School  incul- 
cated this  doctrine  among  his  scholars, — that  they  should 
use  in  after  life  the  knowledge  they  acquired  at  school ;  and 
to  the  Geography  class  he  particularly  addressed  himself,  and 
told  them  that  when  they  saw  new  objects,  they  should 
associate  them  with  the  places  whence  they  came ;  that  if  at 
any  time  they  were  abroad,  they  should  recall,  not  only  the 


THE    governor's    FAMILY.  113 

origin,  but  the  history  and  use,  of  what  they  saw.  "  For 
instance,"  —  and  thus  he  illustrated  his  meaning,  —  "this 
penknife  is  from  England,  —  you  know  where  England  is; 
this  silk  cravat  is  from  France.  The  tea  your  mother  uses 
is  from  China ;  vain  and  extravagant  dressing  is  from  a 
wicked  heart ;  "  —  he  would  laugh  when  he  said  this  ;  — 
"  rum  is  from  the  Devil."  So  he  instructed  them  on  vari- 
ous points,  especially  holding  to  the  main  one,  that  they 
should  keep  their  eyes  open,  —  ever  be  seeing,  ever  be  learn- 
ers, and  have  their  minds  always  alive  and  active. 

Recollecting  this  principle,  Richard  had  a  great  many 
things  to  think  of,  as  he  looked  up  Knuckle  Lane.  Why 
this  poverty  ?  Why  this  meanness  ?  Why  are  poverty  and 
meanness  so  associated  ?  Is  there  no  remedy  for  it  ?  Thus 
he  questioned  within  himself.  There  is  nothing  of  this  sort 
in  Green  Meadow,  —  his  native  town.  He  might  have 
stood  there  a  month,  in  obedience  to  the  direction  of  hij- 
teacher,  Mr.  Willwell,  before  he  could  get  at  the  solution 
of  the  matter.  So  he  went  on  into  the  street  where  wood 
v/as  exposed  for  sale. 

What  quantities  of  it!  How  the  loaded  teams  crowded 
the  way  ! 

Faithful  to  the  principle  just  named,  the  first  thought  of 
Richard,  when  he  saw  the  wood,  was  his  own  home.  The 
oxen  looked  so  like  his  own  oxen,  —  the  wood  looked  so  like 
wood  he  had  handled,  every  stick  of  it ;  —  he  knew  the  best 
kinds,  and  all  kinds.  But  the  oxen;  —  there  came  with  them, 
to  his  mind,  his  own  barn-yard,  and  stable,  and  hay-mow; 
he  could  have  shaken  the  cattle  heartily  by  the  hand,  every 
one  of  them.  Then  he  knew  their  best  signs,  —  the  broad 
breast,  the  bright  color,  —  and  he  could  tell  that  there  was 
a  sprinkling  of  Durham  in  them,  and  he  knew  where  I'ijIt 
ham  was. 

10* 


114  RICHARD    EDNEY    AND 

And  with  the  barn-yard  was  connected,  in  fact,  and  in  his 
mind,  a  little  path,  and  then  an  apple-tree,  and  then  a  well- 
sweep,  a  shed,  and  a  kitchen ;  and  so  he  crept  along,  till 
he  came  pat  upon  his  old  Father  and  Mother ;  — but  he 
could  stay  there  long. 

The  Surveyor  manipulated  with  his  scale  on  all  sides  of 
the  wood,  —  inspected  the  ends,  peered  in  among  the  crev- 
ices, rapped  on  the  bark.  "The  sled  is  heavier  than  that," 
said  the  owner,  looking  at  the  bill  the  official  gave  him. 
"  Short  lengths,"  replied  the  latter.  "  We  measure  from 
the  inside  to  the  tip  of  the  scarf."  "  There  is  a  round  cord, 
or  my  cattle  may  be  ashamed  of  themselves,  and  never 
expose  their  sweat  and  hot  flanks  in  Woodylin  again."  "  It 
is  not  well  packed."  "  It  is  well  packed,  —  I  '11  lea^'e  it  to 
any  one  that  knows.  Here,  Captain,"  he  called  to  Richard ; 
"  you  have  seen  cord-wood,  I  should  say,  from  your  looks  ; 
you  can  tell  what  a  load  is,  and  when  it 's  loaded.  Is  that 
merchantable  ?  "  "I  should  think  it  was,"  replied  Richard. 
"  Is  he  a  Surveyor  ?  "  exclaimed  that  dignitary  ;  "  has  he 
been  sworn ? "  "I  have  handled  wood,"  added  Richard, 
"and  I  call  that  well  stou'ed."  "I  shall  not  condescend  to 
dispute  with  you,"  returned  the  Surveyor.  "  Nor  I  with 
you,"  echoed  the  driver,  and  he  tore  up  the  bill.  "  Your 
wood  is  forfeited,"  said  the  Surveyor.  "It  sells  for  a  cord, 
or  I  will  back  about,  and  fling  it  into  Knuckle  Lane.  I 
guess  they  won't  dispute  about  it  there." 

Richard  was  called  to  apply  his  education  in  a  way  his 
school-master  had  not  provided  for;  yet,  after  all,  it  was 
only  an  amplification  of  the  general  rule. 

"  I  advise  you,  young  man,"  remarked  the  Surveyor  to 
our  friend,  with  a  sinister  tone  of  voice,  "  to  mind  your  own 
business." 

Richard  took  the  hint,  and  went  on.     He  turned,  without 


THE  governor's  FAMILY.  115 

inothod  in  his  route,  into  Lafayette-street,  —  a  broad  street, 
with  fine  trees,  fine  houses,  fine  churches.  This  led  into 
Victoria-square.  With  all  his  philosophy,  it  would  have 
been  difficult  to  pierce  the  mysterj'  that  layabout  him  now. 
lie  could,  indeed,  with  his  eye  comprise  the  magnificence  of 
the  place,  —  count  the  stories  of  the  houses,  enumerate  the 
successive  blocks ;  but  even  to  his  eye,  there  was  an  inex- 
plicable richness.  How  splendid  those  great  elms  would  be 
in  the  summer!  —  that  he  knew.  But  the  people,  —  the 
parlors,  —  the  wardrobes,  —  the  feelings  ;  —  he  might  as 
well  be  looking  at  the  Moon. 

He  entered  St.  Agnes-street,  where  the  Governor  resided, 
and  came  to  a  halt  in  front  of  the  Family  mansion.  There 
were  the  ornamented  fence,  the  arched  gateway,  the  deep 
yard  planted  with  trees  and  shrubbery,  the  long  piazza  with 
its  Corinthian  columns,  the  windows  with  rich  caps,  the 
heavy  cornice,  and  the  high  walls  of  the  building  itself, 
that  arrested  his  eye.  Did  he  know  what  was  inside  ?  He 
did  not  —  nor  even  who  lived  there.  He  saw  what  went  in 
there ;  he  saw  two  ladies,  with  stone-marten  muffs,  garnet 
velvet  sacks,  and  one  with  a  blue  satin  hat  and  bird  of 
paradise  feathers.  These  were  Barbara  and  Melicent. 
They  turned  as  they  mounted  the  steps,  and  cast  a  leisure 
glance  around,  that  alighted  upon  Eichard,  and  passed  to 
other  objects.  What  account  should  he  give  of  these  to  his 
teacher  ?  What  a  distance  between  his  home-spun  and 
their  French  velvets  !  He  drew  back  a  little,  as  they  looked 
towards  him,  and  interposing  between  him  and  them  a  fir- 
tree,  made  good  his  escape.  He  came  into  a  quarter  of 
uneven  pavements  ;  he  passed  houses  that  had  their  base- 
ments new-furbished,  and  new-windowed,  and  let  for  grocery 
stores,  while  the  upper  stories  remained  dingy,  brown,  and 
dark ;   the  improvement  of  the  city  being  rapid  and  great, 


116  RICHARD   EDNEY    AND 

and  flinging  itself  in  haste  into  such  parts  of  a  building  as 
it  could  most  conveniently  reach.  What  life,  what  anima- 
tion, began  to  spread  itself  before  him,  in  the  long  -v-istas  of 
the  business  streets  !  How  the  sun  poured  itself  do«Ti,  cheer- 
ful and  bright,  on  those  syndromes  of  modern  civilization ! 
People  complained  of  tight  times,  a  dull  season; — there 
was  no  dulness,  no  tightness,  to  Richard's  eye.  Gayly  var- 
nished sleighs,  puffed  and  pranked  with  silver-furred  robes, 
and  streaming  with  a  whole  pack  of  tails  behind,  flashed 
by.  Pungs  of  butter,  oats,  mutton,  defiled  along.  Four 
elegant  horses,  attached  to  an  elegant  van,  with  seats  for 
twent)%  and  having  a  dasher  as  high  as  a  barn-door,  on 
which  danced  an  Hungarian  girl,  under  an  arch  of  gilded 
flowers  and  vines,  attracted  his  gaze.  He  saw  men  in 
buffalo  coats,  and  scarlet  leggins,  and  very  red  faces, 
moving  to  and  fro  rather  heavily,  with  the  chin  sunk,  as  if 
in  deep  thought.  These  were  stage-drivers,  executing  their 
orders.  People  from  the  country  were  continually  arriving, 
and  hitching  their  horses  at  the  stone  posts  by  the  walk ;  — 
the  females  crawling  out  of  their  fur  beds,  then  squinting  at 
the  signs  over  the  doors,  and  darting  forwards,  as  if  their 
health  and  salvation  were  staked  on  getting  in  at  a  particu- 
lar door. 

There  were  men  with  pale  faces,  and  white  cravats,  and 
gray  hair,  who  walked  a  little  stooping  and  leisurely;  — 
these  were  the  ancient  and  venerable  fathers  of  the  City. 
Young  men,  well  dressed,  with  bits  of  paper  and  little 
blank-books  in  their  hands,  passed  him,  walking  fast  and 
straight  forwards;  —  these  were  clerks.  Others,  in  loose 
paletots,  with  one  arm  folded  round  the  breast,  and  cigars 
in  their  mouth,  were  the  gentlemen  of  leisure. 

He  came  to  a  store  that  had  an  ancient  goose  hanging 


THE    governor's    FAMILY.  117 

one  side  of  the  door ;  —  he  knew  where  geese  came  from. 
A  pair  of  denim  over-hauls  mated  it  on  the  other  ;  —  he 
knew  where  such  things  came  from,  but  he  looked  more 
closely  at  them,  —  not  philosophically,  but  economically,  — 
for  he  wanted  a  pair.  He  saw  in  the  shop  barrels,  — rows 
of  barrels,  —  piles  of  barrels  ;  and  on  the  heads  of  the  bar- 
rels he  read,  N.  E.  Eum.  Devil !  thought  he,  what  a 
Devil  is  here  !     He  remembered  the  words  of  his  Teacher, 

—  "  Rum  comes  from  the  Devil."  There  were  men  in  the 
store  drinking,  and  other  men  serving  drink.  The  Devil, 
he  thought,  had  set  up  business  for  himself  there.  He 
turned  hastily  away. 

He  came  into  a  street  of  new  stores,  with  high  brick 
walls,  and  great  windows ;  and  every  window,  —  oh,  it  was 
a  realm  of  enchanted  vision,  —  a  gulf  opening  into  Para- 
dise, —  a  portal  of  Dream-land  !  There  were  oranges  and 
lemons  in  the  Fruiterer's  windows,  that  brought  to  Richard's 
memory  what  he  had  learned  of  Sicily,  Cuba,  and  the 
evergreen  Tropics.  There  were  golden  watches  and  brace- 
lets, diamond  rings,  pearl  brooches,  in  the  Jeweller's,  spread 
out  in  full  view,  on  terraces  of  black  velvet ;  and  Potosi 
came  to  his  mind,  Golconda  and  the  Arabian  Nights. 
At  the  Confectioner's,  glass  globes  of  candies  and  lozenges, 
and  all  kinds  of  colored  sugars,  stood  a-row,  and  there  were 
sugar  dogs,  and  sugar  houses,  and  sugar  everything,  — a 
whole  microcosm  of  pretty  ideas  in  sugar ;  and  what  should 
he  think  of,  — what  did  he  think  of,  but  Memmy  and  Bebby  ? 

Richard  was  a  parvenu ;    he  was  fresh  from  the  country, 

—  this  eve r)' body  saw ;  the  way  he  stared  at  things 
showed  it,  even  if  his  red  shirt,  and  snuff-colored  monkey- 
jacket,  and  striped  mittens,  did  not.  But  Richard  knew 
where  ever}-body  came  from,  and  he  had  no  inquiries  to 
make  about  them.     But  he  did  not  understand  the  mystery 


118  RICHARD    EDNEY   AND 

of  all  the  things  he  saw  in  the  windows,  and  he  wished  the 
friend  of  his  youth  was  there  to  tell  him.  This  instructor 
had  a  pin  that  he  took  from  his  coat-sleeve,  on  which  he 
used  to  dilate,  and  spent  hours  talking  about  it,  and  telling 
how  it  was  made ;  then  he  illustrated  all  sorts  of  things  by 
it.  A  pin  and  a  pencil  were  a  whole  armory  of  apparatus 
for  Mr.  Willwell.  At  the  Jeweller's,  he  longed  to  ask  the 
artist  some  questions ;  but  there  the  man  sat,  right  behind 
this  beautiful  display  of  work,  brushing  a  bit  of  brass,  and 
never  looking  at  what  was  before  him,  —  never  looking  at 
Richard,  —  but  very  vacantly  laughing  and  joking  with  an 
idle  fellow  that  stood  near  by,  with  his  thumbs  in  his 
breeches  pockets.  Richard  was  almost  bursting  with  philo- 
sophical admiration  and  inquisitiveness,  and  the  man  was 
so  stupid  !     How  different  from  his  Teacher ! 

But  when  he  faced  the  many-tinted  and  many-shaped 
wonders  of  the  Confectioner's,  he  wished,  he  only  wished, 
if  the  window  should  fall  out,  and  those  piles  of  fascination 
be  tumbled  to  the  ground,  Memmy  and  Bebby  might  be 
there  ! 

As  if  his  fancies  were  just  turning  into  realities,  he  heard 
a  thundering  over  head,  and  a  crash  at  his  side.  The  snow, 
sliding  from  the  high  roof,  had  fallen  to  the  ground.  It 
struck  among  the  horses,  and  frightened  them.  Richard 
attempted  to  compose  them.  One  beast,  frantic  and  fiery, 
broke  his  halter,  and  plunged  backwards,  dragging  Richard 
after  him.  Richard  was  thrown  to  the  ground,  but  without 
relinquishing  his  hold.  The  horse  turned  to  run ;  Richard, 
by  a  strong  jerk  of  the  rein,  and  a  dextrous  application  of 
one  foot  to  the  flank  of  the  animal,  cast  him,  and  had  him 
lying  quietly  on  his  side,  before  the  people,  who  rushed  to 
his  assistance,  had  time  to  be  of  much  service.  It  was  the 
Governor's  horse,  and  in  the  sleigh  was  the  Governor's 


THE    GOVERNOK'S    FAIMILY.  119 

daughter,  and  the  Governor  himself  appeared  in  the  crowd. 
The  daughter  overflowed  with  thankfulness ;  the  Governor 
took,  with  his  thumb  and  finger,  from  his  vest-pocket,  it 
might  be  a  cent,  or  a  dime,  it  was  a  gold  piece,  which  he 
quietly  dropped  into  one  of  the  flaring  pockets  of  Richard's 
jacket. 

The  crowd  dispersed,  and  Richard  resumed  his  studies. 
He  reached  the  Booksellers'  quarter.  An  immense  wooden 
book,  suspended  at  the  corner  of  the  street,  over  the  walk, 
caught  his  eye,  and  large  pictorial  advertisements  on  the 
door-posts  held  it  fast.  He  read  the  advertisements;  he 
went  from  door  to  door,  reading  what  was  emblazoned  at 
each,  —  reading  the  posts  from  top  to  bottom.  There  were 
books  by  authors  familiar  to  him,  and  more  by  those  of 
whom  he  had  not  heard ;  there  were  titles  of  books  that  con- 
veyed no  meaning,  and  some  that  aroused  all  his  curiosity 
to  know  what  they  meant;  and  others  still,  so  full  of  mean- 
ing he  could  hardly  keep  from  clutching  the  bills  and  run- 
ning home.  These  doors  of  the  Booksellers'  Shops,  with 
their  typographical  enigmas,  were  mystic  entrances  to  the 
enchanted  palace  of  youthful  hope  and  intellectual  idealism, 
and  to  what  he  had  wished  to  know,  and  to  what  he  thought 
some  time  he  might  know,  and  to  those  visions  his  Teacher 
unconsciously  kindled  in  his  mind,  and  to  things  of  which 
his  Pastor  spoke.  If  he  could  not  enter  this  palace,  he 
could  look  into  it  through  the  windows;  so  he  ranged 
along  from  window  to  window,  up  and  down  the  street. 
May  no  worse  impediments  to  aspiration  and  desire  ever 
be  offered  than  transparent  glass !  Richard  did  not  feel 
that  he  was  denied  anything,  though  he  stood  outside,  and 
though  it  was  cold  weather ;  he  thought  he  had  a  feast. 
He  was  thankful  to  the  kind  people  that  put  these  things  in 
the  windows.     It  seemed  to  him  that  the  panes  of  glass 


120  RICHARD   EDNEY    AND 

were  very  large,  and  very  accommodating.  He  saw  the 
backs  of  many  beautiful  books,  and  the  inside  of  one  great 
landscape  book.  He  saw  many  more  things,  the  nature  of 
some  of  which  he  understood,  while  others  puzzled  him. 
On  the  broad  shelf  of  one  shop  he  saw  porcelain  gentlemen, 
in  antique  costume,  standing  very  erect ;  —  what  they  were 
for  he  did  not  know,  but  he  supposed  they  were  toys,  and 
he  knew  toys  came  from  Germany;  so  Germany  was  in  his 
mind.  He  saw  pearl-handled  penknives,  and  all  that  Teacher 
and  books  had  said  about  Sheffield  was  remembered.  There 
was  a  little  marble  dog,  with  a  gold  chain  about  its  neck;  — 
he  did  not  comprehend  that.  There  were  boxes  of  toilette 
soap,  hidden  away  in  silvered  paper; — here  he  was  out, 
too.  There  were  quantities  of  Valentines,  to  which  he 
could  get  no  clue  whatever.  A  box  of  gold  pencils  revived 
his  confidence.  There  were  patent  inkstands,  and  patent 
pickwicks,  and  patent  table-bells  ;  —  good  a  mechanician  as 
he  might  be,  he  was  totally  confused.  In  the  broad  alcove 
of  the  bay  window  of  another  shop,  in  addition  to  all  this 
glitter  and  richness  below,  over  head  were  a  whole  choir  of 
little  white  angels,  and  a  bevy  of  cupids,  venuses,  and  inno- 
cent white  children.  O  Memmy !  oh  Bebby  !  where  are  you 
now  2  And  more  still !  there  were  beautiful  pictures,  Ma- 
donna faces,  tenderest  looks  of  childhood,  many  a  sweet  human 
expression,  verdant  landscapes,  quiet  pastorals,  some  of  the 
deepest  affections  of  the  heart.  Germany,  Sheffield,  Art, 
Mystery,  —  good-by  !  They  all  vanish  ;  nothing  tempts 
his  curiosity  now;  his  spirit  is  ravished  by  a  new  enthusi- 
asm ;  —  these  simple  pictures  sink  into  his  soul,  an'd  his 
imagination  swims  in  ideal  feeling. 

On  the  door  of  this  store  he  read  Nefon's.  By  this  time, 
also,  he  recollected  that  he  wanted  some  paper  and  pens  ;^ 
and  especially  were  his  thoughts  quickened,  when,  among 


THE    governor's    FAMILY.  121 

the  many  things  that  garnished  the  door-way,  he  saw  the 
words  Circulating  Library;  for  he  remembered  his  Pastor 
told  him  to  seek  one  out,  —  "  that  is,"  he  added,  "  if  you  can 
find  a  good  one,  a  good  one."  Did  Nefon  keep  a  good  Cir- 
culating Librar)^?  What  was  this  Nefon's?  He  looked 
again  at  the  inscription.  Then  he  looked  at  the  window; 
he  even  stepped  on  the  sill,  and  looked  through  the  glass 
door.  Was  Nefon's  so  small  that  one  word  sufficed  to 
cover  it  ?  Was  it  so  large  that  that  same  pair  of  syllables 
was  all  the  hint  it  needed  to  give?  Of  whatever  size,  it 
was  big  enough  for  Richard.  He  had  studied  grammar,  and 
he  knew  the  apostrophe  indicated  the  possessive  case ;  he 
saw  at  a  glance  that  Nefon  possessed  what,  to  his  eye,  ap- 
peared so  grand  and  magnificent ;  and  Nefon  must  be  a  large 
man.  He  was  mistaken  in  this ;  Nefon  was  a  small  man, 
—  small  in  stature,  though  he  had  a  large  heart,  and  a  large 
head.  Why  was  not  Nefon  on  the  alert,  and  when  there 
stood  on  the  walk  a  stranger  who  had  such  interest  in  his 
wares,  why  did  he  not  open  the  door  and  invite  him  in  ? 
That  was  not  Nefon's  way  of  doing  business.  Yet,  if  he 
had  known  vvho  stood  there,  and  what  the  feelings  of  the 
young  man  were,  and  how  near  that  young  man's  feelings 
were  like  his  own,  he  would  not  only  have  invited  him,  but 
even  seized  him  by  the  collar  and  snatched  him  in,  and 
•  saved  him  the  trouble  of  getting  in  as  he  did  ;  for  Richard's 
heart  beat  smartly,  —  so  smartly  it  might  have  answered 
for  a  good  knock,  if  there  had  been  any  but  himself  to  hear 
it,  —  and  he  tried  the  latch  twice  before  it  yielded.  But  he 
entered.  Did  the  inside  of  the  shop  fulfil  its  out-door 
promise  ?  Was  Nefon  equal  to  Nefon's  ?  This  is  the 
truth  of  the  matter :  if  Nefon's  face  —  that  is,  his  show- 
window  —  looked  bright  and  attractive,  his  heart  —  that  is, 
the  interior  of  the  store  —  was  less  lustrous,  but  more  solid  ; 
11 


122  KICHAKD    EDNEY   AMD 

darker  because  it  was  deeper,  and  more  quiet  because  it 
was  more  substantial.  This  Kichard  felt ;  and  il"  lie  won- 
dered in  the  street,  he  was  awed  within  the  walls.  ^Vhat 
quantities  of  books!  Now,  within  those  books,  that  tilled 
the  shelves  on  either  side,  and  were  piled  on  the  counters, 
lay  many  of  the  purest  and  profoundest  thoughts  and  feel- 
ings that  Kichard  ever  had,  and  many  more  which  he 
expected  to  have;  and  it  is  not  strange  that  he  gazed  at  tlie 
books,  and  forgot  Nefon.  Nor  did  Neibn  notice  Kichard  ; 
there  were  other  persons  with  whom  he  ^^•ns  engaged. 

Kichard  had  heard  of  great  lihraries ;  —  of  the  AlexaniMiie 
library,  that  was  burned  ;  of  the  National  Library,  at  Paris  ; 
—  but  if  all  the  libraries  in  all  the  world  had  been  flung  into 
one,  and  opened  to  liis  view,  his  emotion  could  not  be  much 
deeper  than  it  was  now.  Not  that  Nefon  had  so  many 
books,  but  Kichard  had  never  seen  so  many. 

But  before  he  could  set  his  eye  steadily  to  work,  his 
imagination  must  exercise  itself  a  little;  and  there  passed, 
as  in  a  trance,  before  his  mind,  many  a  rosy-colored  youth- 
ful vision  of  books,  and,  as  it  were,  a  sea  of  literary  mist,  in 
which  floated  whole  islands  of  flower-reading;  and  calm, 
shady  coves  of  solid  intellectual  progress  opened  in  the 
scene.  These  things  over,  he  could  observe  more  literally 
the  nature  of  what  was  about  him. 

It  is  an  observation  of  Dr.  Johnson,  that  no  place  atlbrds 
a  more  striking  instance  of  the  vanity  of  human  hopes  than 
a  public  library ;  for  who,  he  asks,  can  see  the  ^vall  crowded 
on  ever)'  side  by  mighty  volumes,  without  considering  the 
oblivion  that  covers  their  authors  ?  Yet,  had  these  authors 
known  what  eye  ^^•as  upon  them  now,  —  how  that  heart 
coveted  them,  —  how  this  young  man  would  have  gloated 
over  their  dullest  lines,  and  carried  to  his  closet  their  most 
neglected  tomes,— they  would  have  smiled  within  their  leaves, 


THE   GO\'EBNOIl's   FAMILY.  123 

and,  in  their  own  joyous  thrill,  shaken  off  the  dust  that  lay 
on  their  lids.  The  meanest  author  on  Nefon's  shelves  was 
immortal  in  Richard's  feelings ;  Richard  was  fame,  fortune, 
posterity,  to  all  of  them.  How  much  suffering,  neglect,  and 
toil,  was  recompensed  in  that  single  moment ! 

But  as  he  gazed  at  these  rows  of  books,  reaching  higher 
than  his  head,  and  extending,  in  shadowy  files,  far  into  the 
rear  of  the  building,  the  pleasant  sky  of  things  became  a 
little  overcast.  He  had  this  feeling,  —  that  he  knew  noth- 
ing, and  never  should  know  anything. 

He  had  the  feeling  which  a  young  and  ardent  author 
may  be  supposed  to  have,  who  enters  a  book-shop  with  a 
basket  of  books  on  his  arm,  to  dispose  of  his  wares,  and  try 
his  fortune  in  the  general  market.  He  sees  such  a  multi- 
tude of  other  authors,  with  their  bright,  glittering  titles, 
—  some  in  prett}' blue  muslin;  some  in  prettier  brown  goat- 
skin ;  some  arabesqued  in  gold  ;  others  fragrant  in  Russia  : 
here  one,  urgent  for  a  purchaser,  in  two  volumes ;  there  one 
in  three :  here  one  reposing  in  princely  folio ;  there  one 
gemmed  in  ISmo:  one  recommended  by  his  engravings; 
another  by  his  tj'pe  :  some  calling  attention  to  the  originality 
of  their  sl\-le ;  others  to  the  importance  of  their  matter :  some 
pushed  forward  bj^  backers ;  others  buoj-ant  in  their  own 
reputation.  He  feels  that  he  has  not  written  anj-thing,  and 
never  shall  write  anything ;  and  contemplates  the  books  in 
his  basket  as  a  collection  of  apes,  that  he  had  unwittingly 
sought  to  introduce  among  polite  and  respectable  men, 
whose  chattering  he  had  mistaken  for  speech ;  and  he 
would  fain  set  them  adrift  in  the  fi^rst  piece  of  woods  he  caa 
find. 

So  Richard,  the  admirer  of  all  authors,  —  so  many  an 
author,  —  is,  in  a  sense,  killed  by  those  authors  whom  Dr. 


124  KICHARD    EDNEY   AND 

Johnson  summarily  consigns  to  oblivion.  This  bibliothecal 
dust,  after  all,  has  some  power  in  it. 

So,  we  say,  Richard,  with  these  treasures,  endless  gran- 
aries, of  wisdom,  genius,  art  and  science,  before  him,  felt  he 
knew  nothing,  and  never  should  know  anything.  He  forgot 
even  the  Circulating  Library,  and  paper  and  pens ;  and  was 
half  resolved  to  leave  the  premises,  and  go  home  to  Memmy 
and  Bebby,  and  the  Green  Mill.  But  ere  he  had  time  to 
execute  such  a  purpose,  Nefon  accosted  him  with  a  cool, 
How  do  you  do.  Sir  ?  Richard  could  hardly  tell  how  he 
did. 

Recollecting  himself,  however,  he  asked  after  a  Circu- 
lating Library.  Nefon  replied  that  he  kept  one,  retailed  the 
terms,  but  added,  it  was  an  unprofitable  part  of  his  establish- 
ment, and,  moreover,  that  he  had  been  obliged  to  adopt  the 
rule  of  not  lending  to  strangers,  —  that  was,  to  people  out 

of  town,  and  to  such  as  had  no .     He  was  at  loss  for  a 

word ;  he  said  credentials,  or  something  of  that  sort.  He 
meant,  to  irresponsible  persons ;  to  those,  in  a  word,  who 
looked  as  Richard  did. 

Ah,  Nefon,  how  could  you  do  so  ?  But  Nefon  was  busy ; 
he  had  many  customers,  and  many  cares,  and  he  did  not 
regard  Richard  attentively.  He  had  a  glimpse  at  him,  and, 
not  thinking  but  that  he  might  be  a  prodigal,  good-for- 
nothing  fellow,  like  many  in  the  city,  who  wanted  a  novel 
to  read,  he  answered  him  as  he  did.  Why  did  he  not  look 
into  Richard's  gentle,  truthful  eye  ?  why  did  he  not  observe 
his  earnest,  honest  face  ?  What  did  he  see  in  the  glimpse 
he  had  ?  A  red  shirt,  coarse  coat,  and  rustic  manner.  The 
truth  must  be  told,  though  Nefon  falls.  The  suit  which 
Richard's  mother  had  spun  and  wove  for  him,  which  she 
had  bade  him  good-by  in,  and  which  she  had  thought,  with 
a  strong  motherly  feeling,  "  None  will  be  ashamed  of  my 


THK  COVEKNOR's  FAMILY.  125 

son  "  in,  —  that  suit  well-nigh  ruined  hiin  with  Nefon.  Nefon 
will  deny  this;  but  we  will  put  it  to  him  thus:  Suppose 
Eichard  wore  a  fine  linen  shirt,  a  Creinonia  doeskin  paletot, 
and  one  of  Bebee's  castors,  —  would  you  have  answered 
him  as  you  did  ? 

But  Richard  possessed  a  last  resort.     He  took  from  his  - 
wallet  a  piece  of  paper,  which,  after  some  hesitation,  he  gave 
to  Nefon.     That  paper  was  a  sort  of  cosmopolitan  passport 
for  Richard,  from  the  hands  of  his  Pastor.     It  ran  thus  :  — 

"  Green  Meadow,  Dec.  18 — , 

"  To  whom  it  may  concern. 

"This  may  certify  that  the  bearer,  Richard  Edney  by 
name,  son  of  John  and  Mary  Edney,  of  this  town,  whose 
birth  has  been  duly  registered  in  the  town  records,  and  his 
baptism  in  the  records  of  the  Church  ;  having  arrived  at 
man's  estate,  and  profited  of  such  occasions  as  his  native 
village  affords,  being  desirous  to  see  other  places,  and  visit 
cities  and  towns  more  remote,  is  a  member  of  the  Church  of 
Christ  in  this  town,  and  has  maintained  a  good  walk  and 
conversation ;  that  he  is  a  lover  of  truth,  and  a  friend  of 
humanity ;  is  a  practical  agricultv^rist ;  ingenious  in  the 
understanding  of  mechanics,  and  industrious  in  the  fulfil- 
ment of  his  tasks.  He  is  believed  to  be  a  youth  of  honor 
and  trustworthiness.  As  such,  he  is  recommended  to  the 
fellowship  and  sympathy  of  the  good,  the  true,  the  noble, 
everywhere. 

(Signed)  "  Timothy  Harold, 

"  Pastor  of  the  Church." 

This  was  nuts  to  Nefon  ;  or  it  would  have  been,  if  he  had 
forthwith  cracked  them.     But  between  interruptions  on  the 
one  hand  and  those  first  impressions  on  the  other,  he  dal- 
lied.    He  looked  at  Richard,  —  looked  as  if  he  had  not  seen 
11# 


126  EICHARD   EBNEY,    ETC. 

him  before,  though  he  had  been  in  the  shop  twenty  min- 
utes. He  looked  again;  and  Richard,  embarrassed  and 
aggrieved,  took  the  note,  and  turned  away. 

Now,  why  all  this  ?  Could  not  the  three  thick  volumes 
of  Lavater  outweigh  the  short  jacket  ?  Why  had  not 
Nefon  been  appointed  Head  Phrenological  Custom-house 
Inspector,  —  and  he  might  have  determined  in  a  trice  that 
Richard  contained  no  fraud  in  his  composition.  We  have 
said  Nefon  had  a  great  head  and  a  great  heart,  though  he 
was  a  small  man ;  but  all  his  greatness  would  have  melted 
with  kindness  and  run  over,  had  he  imagined  how  the  case 
stood.     He  will  not  do  so  again. 

He  did  offer  his  library  to  Richard ;  he  asked  him  after 
his  business,  and  where  he  lived,  and  said  he  should  be  glad 
to  see  him  again. 

Richard  took  a  book,  and  left  the  shop ;  but  he  could  not 
go  home  and  face  the  children  with  empty  hands.  So  he 
got  candy  and  toys,  as  a  sort  of  ammunition  with  which  to 
encounter  the  onset  of  their  affections. 


CHAPTER    IX. 

SUNDAY   AND    SUNDAY    EVENING. 

Saturday  night  the  Mills  did  not  run,  and  Richard 
enjoyed  a  regular  sleep.  Sunday  he  went  to  Church ;  he 
went  with  his  brother's  family.  He  wore  his  strong  sur- 
tout,  and  his  warm  red  shirt.  He  had  cotton  shirts,  but  at 
this  season  of  the  year  he  did  not  like  to  risk  a  change,  and 
at  home  he  always  wore  such  a  shirt  to  Church  in  winter. 

In  the  afternoon  he  said  he  would  like  to  go  to  another 
Church  ;  he  named  Dr.  Broadwell's. 

"  That  is  aristocratic,"  replied  his  sister,  "and  your  shirt 
will  not  be  tolerated  there." 

"  I  might  sit  in  a  back  pew,"  added  Richard. 

"  I  would  be  as  good  as  anybody,"  rejoined  his  sister, 
"  or  I  would  not  go  at  all." 

"We  are  as  good  as  anybody,  at  your  Church,  Roxy  ?  " 

"  We  stand  with  the  first  class,  there,  and  have  a  centre 
pew." 

"  They  are  better  than  we  are,  at  Dr.  Broadwell's  ?  " 

"They  think  they  are;  that  is  their  conceit,  —  that  is 
their  silly  pretension." 

"  The  real  difference  between  us  is  the  shirt." 

"  I  guess,"  said  Munk,  "  that  is  about  all.  There  maybe 
a  slight  odds  in  the  thickness  of  the  hand,  but  not  much. 
At  any  rate,  the  advantage  is  on  your  side.  Your  shirt  is 
as  clean  as  theirs,  and  it  is  certainly  warmer,  and  it  cost 
more  ;  and  there  is  quite  as  much  human  nature  in  your 
hand,  brother,  as  in  theirs." 


128  RICHARD    EDNEY    AND 

"  Well,  Eichard,"  —  so  his  sister  appealed  to  him,  —  "  if 
you  will  drag  the  truth  out  of  me,  and  excruciate  me  to  tell 
the  whole,  Mrs.  Tunny,  the  grocer's  wife,  goes  to  Dr.  Broad- 
well's,  and  she  has  invited  us  to  her  house,  and  I  should  not 
like  to  have  her  see  you  at  Church  in  such  trim." 

"  You  did  not  use  to  talk  and  feel  like  this,  w^hen  you 
were  at  home,  Roxy." 

"The  city  is  not  the  country,  Richard,  and  you  cannot 
do  here  as  you  do  there.  I  have  learned  many  things  since 
I  came  here ;  I  have  learned  more  of  the  deceitfulness  of 
the  human  heart.  Elder  Jabson  is  a  very  different  preacher 
from  Parson  Harold.  You  cannot  be  so  independent  here, 
with  everybody  looking  at  you,  and  commenting  upon  you, 
and  so  many  slanderous  tongues  about,  and  so  much  de- 
pending on  propriety  and  taste.  I  have  changed  in  some 
things,  and  I  hope  for  the  better." 

"  I  will  compromise  matters,"  replied  Richard ;  "  I  will 
not  go  to  Elder  Jabson's,  for,  in  fact,  I  am  not  accustomed  to 
such  a  service,  nor  such  discourse.  Nor  will  I  go  to  Dr. 
Broadwell's,  lest  my  shirt  should  give  ijou  offence.  I  will 
find  some  other  place." 

Richard  joined  the  currents  of  people  that  came  from 
every  direction,  and  went  in  every  direction,  —  as  if  nobody 
wished  to  have  it  known  where  he  was  going,  as  if  every- 
body was  in  pursuit  of  something  which  he  would  hide 
from  everybody ;  —  up  this  street  and  dow^l  it,  plunging 
into  that  lane  and  coming  out  of  it,  avoiding  one  another  on 
the  crossings,  plumping  into  one  another  round  the  corners, 
disappearing  in  large  doors  where  nobody  else  went ;  —  as  if 
heaven  was  a  gold  mine,  of  which  each  one  had  had  a 
dream,  and  snugging  the  dream  in  his  own  thought,  he  fol- 
lowed its  secret  intimation ;  or  as  if  religion  were  a  game 
of  hide  and  coop,  which  the  whole  city  was  out  playing ; 


THE  governor's  FAMILY.  129 

and  presently  you  would  see  these  people,  joyous  and  lov- 
ing, rushing  from  their  retreats  to  some  central  spot  of 
Christian  feeling ! 

Richard,  with  no  intelligent  bent  of  his  own,  except  to 
keep  clear  of  Dr.  Broadwell's  and  Elder  Jabson's,  adhered 
to  a  bevy  of  people  in  which  he  happened  to  find  himself, 
and  in  their  wake  entered  the  first  Church  he  came  to.  It 
was  a  large  Gothic  door  into  which  he  went ;  and  in  the 
porch  whom  should  he  see  but  Nefon  !  Now,  Nefon  had 
evidently  repented  him  of  his  sins.  It  was  Sunday,  and  it 
was  sacrament  day,  and  there  was  good  reason  for  his  doing 
so.  The  glare  of  life  was  gone,  and  the  encroachments  of 
traffic  had  abated;  and  his  feelings  were  calmer,  purer, 
truer.  He  had  found  his  heaven  of  enlarged,  humane,  all- 
encircling  sentiment ;  and  he  was  stirred  with  great  kind- 
ness and  brotherliness  towards  Richard,  and  took  him  cor- 
dially by  the  hand.  "  Show  me  a  back  seat,  —  the  negro's 
seat,  if  you  have  one,"  said  Richard.  "  Come  with  me," 
replied  the  Bookseller,  in  a  quick  but  significant  way  he 
had,  meaning  more  than  he  said ;  and  most  likely  haunted 
by  the  recollection  of  his  former  dereliction,  he  led  Richard 
to  his  own  pew,  which  was  as  conspicuous  as  any  in  the 
Church.  Richard  could  not  have  appeared  to  better  advan- 
tage in  Nefon's  eye  than  he  did,  with  his  cap  off,  in  meet- 
ing, that  afternoon.  We  speak  not  now  of  how  he  ap- 
peared to  the  Omniscient  eye,  or  to  the  eye  of  the  simple 
Spirit  of  Truth.  But  Nefon  saw  that  his  manner  was  devout 
and  earnest,  his  expression  spiritual  and  intellectual,  and 
that  in  worship  and  instruction  his  heart  was  engaged.  He 
saw,  moreover,  that  in  the  distribution  of  the  sacred  ele- 
ments ;  Richard  was  a  recipient  and  he  was  touched,  Nefon 
was,  and  he  loved  Richard  more  than  ever.     There  was 


130  RICHARD    EDNEY    AND 

little  sectarianism  in  this,  —  little  of  mere  wonder  or  admira- 
tion. 

The  religious  tie  is  perhaps  as  strong  as  can  bind  two 
hearts  together ;  the  tie  that  comprises  time  and  eternity, 
God  and  man;  that  has  for  its  basis  the  most  solemn 
and  liberal,  the  most  simple  and  magnificent,  exercises  of 
the  soul :  that  sweeps  the  earth  in  quest  of  objects  to  pity 
or  to  save,  and  still  finds  in  the  nearest  and  homeliest  duties 
the  repose  of  contentment,  the  affluence  of  satisfaction,  and 
the  lustre  of  fame ;  that  moves  with  Destiny,  and  reposes 
on  Providence ;  that  loves  Love,  exults  in  the  Pure,  and 
swells  in  the  Light  as  the  new-starting  bud  of  the  spring 
anemone. 

Nefon  saw  no  more  of  Richard's  red  shirt;  it  had  disap- 
peared utterly,  — the  flame  of  his  virtues  burned  and  con- 
sumed it.  We  wiU  not  say  Richard  stood  naked  before 
Nefon  ;  rather  he  appeared  in  the  glory  and  the  amiability 
with  which  Christ  clothes  his  disciples.  Nefon  remembered 
Richard  after  this  ;  not  that  he  had  entirely  forgotten  him 
since  he  saw  him  in  his  shop,  but  he  had  thought  of  him  by 
inch-meal  and  flittingly.  Now  he  appealed  to  him  more  as 
an  incarnate,  well-favored  tangibility. 

The  after  part  of  the  Sabbath,  and  the  twilight,  and  the 
evening,  are  very  pleasant.  It  is  a  free,  tranquil,  cheerful 
time.  It  is  an  hour  favorable  to  domestic  reunions  and 
social  communion.  The  laboring  classes  —  and  that,  in 
fact,  means  all  classes  except  professed  vagabonds  —  make 
great  and  very  reasonable  account  of  it.  The  hurly-burly 
and  wish-wash  of  existence  it  visits  with  a  genial  humor 
and  purifying  serenity.  It  is  a  zephyr  that  fans  the  fever- 
ishness  of  the  week,  and  soothes  excitement  and  replenishes 
exhaustion.  In  the  most  boisterous  weather,  when  no  one 
goes  to  meeting,  the  whole  Sabbath  has  a  summery  feeling, 


THE    GOVERXOR's    FAIMILY.  131 

and  many  flowers  and  green  leaves  of  piety,  hope,  repent- 
ance, show  their  tender  faces,  which  Monday  morning  is 
too  apt  to  nip  as  an  untimely  frost.  There  is  a  reconcilia- 
tion with  God  and  with  one  another,  at  these  times,  which 
it  is  delightful  to  experience  and  painful  to  lose.  Heaven 
then  lets  down  a  golden  chain,  on  which  every  one  loves  to 
fasten  a  prayer,  and  see  it  drawn  up.  Even  Memmy  felt 
something  of  this,  for  she  said  to  her  mother,  "  How  it 
seems,  Sundays,  don't  it  ?  " 

Asa  Munk  was  of  the  firm  of  ]\Iuuk  and  St.  John,  and 
their  business  was  with  horses.  They  kept  a  liverj^-stable, 
did  some  teaming,  owned  hackney-coaches  and  an  omnibus, 
and  were  interested  in  a  stage-route.  Their  stand  was  near 
the  Factories,  and  their  business  grew  naturally  out  of  the 
rise  and  increase  of  the  New  City. 

It  will  be  supposed  Munk  enjoyed  his  Sabbaths.  He 
loved  to  be  at  home  with  his  wife  and  children.  He  loved 
the  enfranchisement  and  the  comfort  of  the  Sabbath.  Munk 
took  life  easily,  though  he  worked  hard.  He  used  to  say, 
"  I  am  always  happy,  and  Prince  Albert  can't  say  more." 
"  Bless  God  for  Memmy  and  Bebby  !  "  he  said,  this  after- 
noon, as  the  children  played  round  him.  "  Bless  God  for 
Papa  !  "  echoed  Memmy. 

The  heads  of  this  family  could  not  both  be  absent  to 
Church  at  the  same  time.  One  must  stay  with  the  chil- 
dren, and  it  had  been  Munk's  turn  to  do  so  this  afternoon. . 

"  You  should  have  heard  the  Elder,"  observed  his  wife  ; 
"  he  was  solemn."  "  I  have  great  peace  of  mind  in  my 
children,"  replied  Munk.  "  Children  cannot  save  your 
soul,"  said  she.  "They  have  been  preaching  to  me  all 
day,"  said  he.  "  We  need  something  more  powerful,  more 
searching,"  she  added.  "  Children  are  eloquent,  —  so  Pas- 
tor Harold  says,"  interposed  Richard,  "for  the  Scripture  de- 


132  KICHARD   EDNEY   AND 

clares  '  out  of  the  mouths  of  babes  and  sucklings  Thou 
hast  ordained  praise.'  Children,  he  says,  are  standards;  for 
Christ  instructs  that  we  must  become  like  them,  in  order  to 
enter  the  kingdom  of  heaven." 

"  I  hope  you  will  not  compare  Memmy  and  Bebby  with 
Elder  Jabson,"  returned  Mrs.  Munk,  with  a  slight  tartness 
of  manner,  that  betokened  considerable  internal  roil. 

"  The  Elder,"  answered  her  husband,  in  a  patient,  peace- 
making way,  "  is  meat,  strong  meat ;  and  the  children  are 
nuts  and  raisins,  after  it." 

There  was  a  point  in  which  Munk  was  lame,  —  at  least,  his 
wife  and  Eichard  both  thought  so.  He  let  horses  on  the 
Sabbath.  He  qualified  this  statement,  indeed,  and  extenu- 
ated it.  Richard  replied,  quoting  Pastor  Harold,  that  the 
use  of  horses  on  the  Sabbath  should  be  confined  to  occa- 
sions of  necessity  and  mercy.  Munk  said  the  factory- 
girls  and  mill-men  had  no  leisure  except  Sundays;  and 
hinted  at  their  need  of  recreation.  Mrs.  Munk  said  scores 
of  them  had  been  to  dancing-schools  that  winter.  Richard 
observed  there  were  ample  woods,  the  margin  of  streams, 
and  pleasant  roads,  where  they  could  walk.  Munk  said 
they  must  visit  their  friends.  Richard  asked  if  they  did  not 
go  to  taverns  in  the  neighborhood,  and  squander  the  sa- 
cred hours  in  dissipation.  "Even,"  he  continued,  "  has  not 
Clover  had  one  of  your  horses  to-day  for  such  a  purpose  ?  " 
Munk  had  not  reflected.  Munk  would  not  permit  such  a 
thing  again. 

Mrs.  Munk  was  getting  tea.  Memmy  could  toast  the 
bread,  and  so  could  Bebby  ;  at  least  she  could  play  at  it,  — 
she  could  hold  the  empty  toast-iron  to  the  fire,  and  her  father 
put  a  chip  in,  which  he  said  she  did  brown.  Memmy 
could  set  up  the  chairs,  and  so  could  Bebby.  There  was  a 
dispute  whether  Bebby  could  carry  a  plate  from  the  closet 


THE    GOVERNOK's   FAMILY.  133 

to  the  table.  "  There  is  one  thing  we  can  all  do,"  said 
Munk ;  "  we  can  eat.  Let  us  bless  God  for  that ! "  "  Can't 
everybody  eat?"  asked  Memmy.  "No,"  replied  Munk; 
"  some  folks  can't  eat."  "  I  should  think  it  was  very  fun- 
ny," answered  Wemmy.  "  If  you  could  eat  properly," 
said  her  Mother,  after  they  were  seated  at  the  table,  "  I 
should  be  glad  !  You  have  slobbered  your  bib,  and  spilt 
milk  on  the  table-cloth  !  It  was  span  clean  this  morning  ! 
I  should  like  to  keep  a  cloth  clean,  one  day!  I  should  like 
to  see  such  a  thing,  where  there  are  children  !  It  should  be 
published  in  the  newspapers !  I  would  send  the  cloth  to 
Barnum's  !  "  Memmy  could  feed  herself,  and  Bebby  could 
want  to ;  and  she  got  a  spoon  and  held  lustily  to  it,  in  spite 
of  her  Mother's  efforts  to  remove  it.  "  Do  you  feed  her, 
Asa,"  enjoined  the  Mother;  "I  always  said,  if  ever  I  had  a 
child,  it  should  not  feed  itself."  "  You  seem  to  have  laid 
out  pretty  largely  beforehand,  "  added  her  husband.  "  I 
have  had  experience  enough  to  teach  me,  at  any  rate,"  she 
rejoined.  "  Perhaps  our  children  are  precocious,"  suggested 
Munk,  in  his  pleasant  way  ;  "  who  knows  ?  —  and  we  can't 
expect  them  to  do  as  other  children  do."  "  You  have  got 
them  into  the  pulpit,"  returned  his  wife,  with  a  demi-sar- 
casm,  "and  of  course  they  must  be  masters  of  themselves 
at  table.  Elder  Jabson  says  we  can't  be  too  strict  with 
children."  "The  Elder,"  said  Munk,  "  has  driven  the  chil- 
dren from  the  pulpit,  and  possibly  he  would  not  let  them 
come  to  the  table  at  all.  He  never  touched  a  child  but  he 
seemed  to  be  taking  up  a  caterpillar." 

Munk  took  things  by  the  smooth  handle ;  but  sometimes 
the  handle  was  rough,  and  sometimes  there  was  no  handle 
at  all ;  then  he  seized  the  vessel  bodily.  So  now,  after 
tea,  he  put  his  arms  about  his  wife,  and  drew  her  into  his 
lap,  and  kissed  her.  But  the  children  —  munificent  little 
12 


134  RICHARD   EDNEY   A^D 

sly-boots  I  —  thought  this  was  not  enough,  —  that  his  pitcher 
might  be  a  little  more  brimming;  and  JMemmy  climbed  up 
after  her  Mother,  and  Eebby,  betwixt  lifting  and  scrambling, 
got  to  the  same  spot,  and  Munk  had  his  pitcher  overflow- 
ing; audit  was  so  large  he  could  hardly  get  his  arms 
around  it.  But  it  was  all  nectar  to  him,  —  a  glass  of  joy  and 
hope,  that  hummed  and  chirped,  —  and  he  crushed  it  hand- 
somely. "  Let  us  be  good,  and  happy,"  he  said  to  his  wife  ; 
"  let  us  not  borrow  trouble ;  don't  keep  your  spirits  spotted 
as  a  painter's  shop,  but  clean  and  bright  as  your  own  little 
kitchen.  God  has  given  us  many  comforts ;  let  us  be  grate- 
ful and  enjoy  them,  as  Pastor  Harold  used  to  say.  Let  us 
be  just  to  ourselves,  by  wisely  improving  what  we  have,  and 
not  eat  the  crib  when  we  have  plenty  of  sweet  fodder." 
"  O  !  "  sighed  his  wife,  "  it  is  such  a  responsibility  I  "  "  It 
is  heavier,"  he  rejoined,  "because  you  let  it  weigh  on  you. 
Put  it  out  of  your  heart  a  little ;  it  gets  water-soaked  in 
your  feelings,  and  sinks.  We  have  house-room  enough ; 
let  it  play  about  now  and  then.  We  have  chairs  enough ; 
see  if  it  will  not  sit  down  and  rest  itself.  Try  and  make  it 
stand  on  its  own  feet,  dear,  and  you  will  be  easier,  and  just 
as  good."  His  wife  threw  herself  on  his  neck,  and  cried  ; 
he  pressed  his  arm  about  her  very  softly  and  warmly,  and 
kissed  her  cheek,  and  the  little  ones  kissed  their  Mother,  and 
then  their  Father  kissed  them. 

Richard,  meanwhile,  went  to  visit  tbe  Orphans  at  Which- 
comb's.  Here  he  found  a  lady  to  whom  he  was  introduced 
as  Miss  Dennington,  daughter  of  the  Governor's.  It  was 
Melicent.  She  was  dressed  in  a  blue  satin  bonnet  with 
bird-of-paradise  feathers,  and  a  purple  velvet  sack.  Did  he 
recognize  this  dress  ?  He  had  seen  it  before.  Did  she 
remember  having  seen  him  ?  —  That  she  was  on  an  errand 
of  mercy,  appeared  in  her  sitting  by  the  sick-bed,  and  laying 


THE  governor's  FAMILY.  135 

her  hand  on  the  head  of  Violet,  to  whom  she  spake  in  soft, 
low  tones ;  and  likewise  in  the  fresh  oranges  and  an 
unbroken  glass  of  jelly  on  the  small  table  at  the  head  of  the 
bed,  which  she  must  have  brought. 

Violet  was  no  better,  and  she  would  never  be  in  this 
world ;  but  she  was  without  pain,  mental  or  bodily,  and  she 
had  that  look  of  transparent,  moon-light  repose,  which,  if  it 
be  ominous  of  death,  is  beautiful  as  life.  Junia,  pale  with 
M-aching  and  confinement,  was  still  of  patient,  perennial, 
sisterly  love  and  devotion.  The  Old  Man  romanced  with 
the  fire,  making  it  seem  how  he  could  graduate  it  exactly  to 
the  necessities  of  the  room,  and  the  state  of  the  wood-box  ; 
showing  his  skill  in  using  from  the  scant  pile,  and  not 
diminishing  it. 

"  You  achieved  a  great  deed  in  the  street,  the  other  day," 
said  Junia  to  Richard. 

"  I  owe  my  deliverance  to  you,"  added  Melicent,  "  and  I 
know  not  but  my  life.    Father  said  it  was  a  narrow  escape." 

"  I  did  not  know  who  it  was  in  the  sleigh, "  replied 
Richard.  "  The  horse  showed  good  pluck.  I  never  had 
the  handling  of  one  before  so  set  on  making  music  out  of 
my  bones." 

"  Were  n't  you  hurt  ?  "  asked  Melicent. 

"I  should  have  been,"  he  replied,  "  but  that  my  mother, 
probably  anticipating  some  accident  to  her  son,  had  encased 
his  flesh  in  stout  wrappages." 

They  were  interrupted  by  the  entrance  of  the  mistress  of 
the  house  with  the  tray.  "  How  do  you  do,  Miss  Denning- 
ton  ?  "  she  said.  "  How  is  the  Governor  ?  We  heard  he  was 
unwell ;  we  could  not  aflford  to  lose  him.  Elder  Jabson  is 
havinga  Reformation;  well,  there  is  need  enough  of  it,  —  we 
are  all  bad  enough.  I  do  not  expect  to  get  to  Heaven  on 
my  own  merits,  according  to  Parson  Smith's  doctrine ;  — 


136  RICHAED    EDNEY    AND 

1  hope  I  may  have  none  of  that  sin  to  answer  for.  I  am 
ready  to  help  the  sick  and  the  destitute,  though  they  are 
ungrateful.  Madam  has  sent  some  jelly ;  my  own  is  most 
gone,  we  have  had  so  much  sickness,  and  there  is  so  much 
call  for  chicken-soup,  and  nice  steaks,  and  arrow-root,  and 
lemonade,  and  jellies,  which  we  never  mean  to  be  out  of  for 
a  moment;  for  who  knows  when  another  will  be  taken  down, 
and  all  the  things  in  the  house  called  for  ?  "  She  took  the 
paper  cover  from  a  jelly-glass  that  looked  as  if  Noah's  wife, 
in  her  haste  to  disembark,  had  put  it  away  unwashed  in  a 
closet  of  the  ark,  and  it  now  made  its  appearance  for  the  first 
time  in  Mrs,  Whichcomb's  tray.  But  no — it  was  not  its  first 
appearance ;  three  times  a  day,  for  as  many  months,  that 
identical  glass,  with  its  identical  contents,  had  been  brought 
into  the  chamber  on  that  tray.  "  I  do  feel  for  the  unfortunate," 
she  added,  as  she  offered  the  venerable  cordial  to  the  sick  one. 
"  Would  your  sister,  Miss  Junia,  relish  a  slice  of  ham,  and 
a  few  griddle-cakes,  or  a  dish  of  stewed  oysters,  which  are 
so  innocent  ?  or  must  we  still  keep  her  on  the  cracker-water 
the  Doctor  recommended  ?  It  is  not  easy.  Miss  Bennington, 
to  know  what  will  agree  with  the  sick,  which  I  have  had 
some  experience  that  way  for  thirty  years." 

Mrs,  Whichcomb  was  complaisant  and  deferential  in 
presence  of  Miss  Dennington,  and  she  forebore  her  gibes 
and  quirks  with  Richard.  And  when  she  saw  Melicent 
and  our  friend  freely  conversing  together,  she  even  went  so 
far  as  to  commend  Richard  to  her  ear.  "  The  coldest  night 
that  ever  was,"  says  she,  "  this  young  gentleman  brought 
wood  to  these  poor  folk ;  and  many  is  the  time  since,  he  has 
taken  their  basket  to  the  Saw-mill  and  filled  it,  which  he 
did  not  know  that  we  had  a  plenty  of  it,  and  country  boys 
is  apt  to  do.  And  he  has  sent  his  sister,  JMrs  Munk,  to 
watch ;  and  he  has  got  other  women  to  come  and  spell  Miss 


THE    GOVERNOK's    FAMILY,  137 

Junia ;  and  he  is  almost  a  stranger  in  the  city,  himself; 
which  shows  goodness,  if  it  does  not  lead  to  pride,  which  is 
apt  to  be,  as  Charley  Walter  could  not  think." 

]Mrs.  Whichcomb  retired.  Melicent,  with  an  ill-sup- 
pressed smile,  said  to  Richard,  "  Is  Asa  Munk's  related  to 
you  ?  "  "  ]\Ir.  Munk  is  my  brother-in-law,"  replied  Rich- 
ard. "  Did  you  find  it,  that  night  ?  "  she  asked.  "  I  found 
it,"  he  answered,  "  the  night  I  came  to  Woodjdin."  "  You 
must  be  the  person  we  encountered  on  the  Bridge,"  she  con- 
tinued. "  And  you  of  the  party  that  was  frightened  by  a 
drunken  man,"  he  rejoined.  "We  were  in  quite  a  gale. 
The  darkness  of  the  Bridge  is  wont  to  create 'a  giddy,  rat- 
tling reaction  in  the  spirits  of  all  who  cross  it."  "  You  must 
be  Transcendentalists,  if  I  understand  Pastor  Harold's  ac- 
count of  that  thing,"  said  Richard.  "  Very  likely  we  are," 
she  added.  "  Have  you  attended  the  Athenasum  Lectures  ?  " 
she  asked.  Richard  said  he  had  not;  that  he  did  not  know 
of  them.  "  Have  you  ever  worshipped  at  the  Church  of  the 
Redemption  ? "  she  asked.  "  What  is  that  ?  "  Richard 
queried.  "In  which  Parson  Smith  officiates,"  she  replied. 
Richard  answered  that  he  was  there  this  afternoon.  "  This 
must  be  the  young  man,"  she  said,  turning  to  Junia,  "  that 
defended  your  Grandfather  so  ably  at  his  trial."  "  I  have 
no  doubt  of  it,"  replied  Junia.  "  He  has  been  as  a  brother 
to  us,  and  that  when  we  were  entire  strangers  to  him."  Rich- 
ard replied  tliat  he  had  only  done  what  he  felt  to  be  his  duty. 
Melicent  commended  his  generosity,  and  hoped  he  would 
persevere  in  the  practice  of  usefulness,  and  ever  maintain 
those  principles  of  virtue  which  he  seemed  to  have  adopted. 

Richard  left  with  a  new  impression  in  his  heart,  —  that 
light-spirited,  lyrical  impression,  which  the  approbation  of  a 
refined,  high-bred,  religious  woman  is  fitted  to  produce. 

At  the  foot  of  the  stairs  he  met  Miss  Eyre,  who  drew 
12* 


138  RICHARD   EDNEY    AND 

him  into  the  parlor,  and  seated  herself  near  him.  She  had 
been  weeping  ;  her  face  was  flushed,  and  her  eye  swollen. 
She  was  subdued  by  an  apparent  melancholy.  She  looked 
at  him  tenderly  and  beseechingly.  She  said,  "  Mr.  Edney, 
you  have  shown  the  goodness  of  your  nature  by  your  atten- 
tions to  the  sick;  you  will  exhibit  the  greatness  of  your 
spirit  by  commiserating  the  distressed.  Some  have  disease, 
some  have  sorrows.  You  know  this,  —  I  need  not  assure 
you  of  it.  Have  I  ever  appeared  harsh,  or  resentful,  or 
haughty,  may  God  forgive  me.  I  can  be  depressed,  —  I 
am  depressed.  But  why  should  I  say  it  ?  Yet  how  can  a 
woman  help  being  weak  at  times  ?  I  would  dash  away  this 
tear,  but  it  is  best  you  should  see  it.  You  do  see  it, 
and  none  but  you  shall  see  it.  Have  you  pity,  —  can 
you  pity  ?  "  Richard  replied  that  he  could,  though  "clearly 
he  did  not  know  as  an  answer  was  expected.  "  I  have  then 
only  to  ask  your  friendship.  I  cannot  relate  my  sorrows ; 
't  is  no  matter  what  they  are.  You  will  be  my  friend." 
"  Certainly,"  said  Richard ;  "  I  am  your  friend."  "  I  can  rely 
on  you,  then."  She  rose  as  she  said  this,  and  stood  like 
one  on  the  point  of  departing.  "  I  shall  appeal  to  you,  — I 
shall  have  confidence  in  you."  With  her  face  towards 
him,  she  slowly  retreated.  "  Remember,"  said  she,  raising 
her  jewelled  finger,  "  that  you  are  my  friend."  "  Of 
course,"  rejoined  Richard,  "  I  am  your  friend." 

The  pleasant  impression  which  Melicent  had  left  in  his 
soul  was  not  effaced  by  this  rencontre  with  Miss  Eyre ; 
albeit  a  slight  confusion  of  thought  was  thereby  engendered ; 
but  not  sufficient  to  prevent  the  calm  serenity  of  the  setting 
Sabbath  sun  exerting  its  full  effect,  or  to  darken  the  many- 
tinted,  lustrous  dew-drops  that  glittered  through  the  green 
wood  of  his  sensibilities. 

That  affair  was  like  a  high  suspension-bridge  over  a  dark 


THE  governor's  FAMILY.  139 

gulf;  but  he  crossed  it  rapidly,  and  was  soon  on  the  safe 
side  of  his  home.  And  here  he  was  very  happy  ;  not  hap- 
pier, indeed,  than  when  he  went  away  ;  but  it  seemed  as  if 
the  lamp  of  his  feelings  had  been  turned  up  a  little,  and  he 
gave  a  little  stronger  light;  or  this  may  have  been  the  mere 
reflection  of  the  light  and  happiness  that  was  about  him ; 
for  his  sister  was  more  heartsome,  the  children  more  blithe, 
and  Munk  was  always  sunshine.  Moreover,  they  had 
opened  the  parlor,  and  the  little  air-tight  was  busy  as  a  bee 
in  summer,  filling  it  with  sweetness  and  pleasantness.  The 
neighbors,  and  others,  were  dropping  in,  including  Tunny,  the 
Green  Grocer,  and  his  wife,  Mr.  Gouch,  head-stock  man,  and 
Mrs.  Grint,  an  aunt  of  Munk's.  There  was  a  heavy  stamp- 
ing in  the  entry,  and  an  audible  wheezing;  and  Munk  said 
it  was  Winkle,  and  the  children  knew  it  was  Winkle,  and 
Winkle  it  was.  Now,  there  was  not,  probably,  on  all  this 
polyzonal  orb,  a  pleasanter,  we  mean  a  more  pleasure-giving 
face,  and  coat,  and  hand,  than  Winkle's ;  and  whip  too, 
—  for  he  brought  his  whip  into  the  parlor,  —  and  cap,  and 
muffler.  He  was  one  of  Munk  and  St.  John's  drivers,  and 
was  employed  on  a  mail  route  that  extended  some  fifty 
miles  into  the  country.  He  was  inclined  to  corpulency,  and 
his  face  was  full-blown,  and  so  were  his  lips,  and  red  as  a 
tomato  ;  and  his  skin  was  varnished  with  the  cold  and  the 
storms  he  every  day  encountered.  He  wore  a  blue,  shaggy, 
lion-skin  overcoat,  margined  with  black.  But  face,  coat  and 
all,  were  radiant  with  delight,  —  we  mean  everybody  felt 
delighted  where  they  came.  The  totality  of  the  man 
was  a  self-working  decanter,  perpetually  discharging  satis- 
faction into  the  breasts  of  all  whom  he  encountered.  There 
was  this  difference  between  Munk  and  Winkle,  —  the  first 
was  a  subjective,  the  other  an  objective,  delight.  Munk  was 
always  happy  in  himself.     Winkle  made  everybody  else 


140  RICHARD    EDNEV   AND 

happy.  In  other  respects  they  had  a  good  deal  in  common. 
But  we  cannot  say  all  we  ought  of  Winkle  here.  What  a 
man  he  was,  and  how  he  communicated  so  much  joy,  and 
how  people  liked  him,  are  matters  that  \A-ould  cram  a  dozen 
pages ;  and  none  that  knew  him  would  be  satisfied  with 
what  we  have  now  said,  and  we  must  compound  with  these 
friends  of  his  by  a  promise  of  more  hereafter. 

But,  sakes  alive !  what  are  we  doing  ?  We  are  in  the 
midst  of  Memmy-and-Bebby-dom ;  and  what  have  we  to  do 
with  Winkle,  or  anybody  else  ?  Winkle  has  gone,  disap- 
peared, swallowed  up  in  a  teknocratical  tempest.  The  chil- 
dren control  the  parlor,  and  the  hour.  They  are  sovereigns, 
—  they  are  empire.  Under  the  guns  of  their  fort  every 
vessel  that  enters  must  lie  to ;  they  are  as  big  as  Caesar 
Augustus ;  all  the  world  pays  tribute  to  them ;  you  can't 
approach  them  without  bovving  as  many  times  as  you  do  to 
the  Chinese  Emperor.  Attractive  as  Winkle  is,  dry  as  Aunt 
Grint  is,  proud  as  Mrs.  Tunny  is,  strong  as  Mr.  Gouch  is, 
and  selfish,  independent,  consequential,  vain,  preoccupied, 
as  everybody  is,  all  cotton  to  Memmy  and  Bebby.  Even 
Winkle's  great  whip,  that  four  as  smart  horses  as  there  were 
in  the  county  ran  from,  and  all  the  cows  were  afraid  of,  and 
dogs  leaped  stone-walls  to  get  out  of  the  way  of,  yielded 
to  them.  Winkle  himself,  weather-seared,  porpoise-limbed 
as  he  was,  went  capering^and  rigadooning  about  them,  as  if 
they  were  tarantulas,  and  had  bitten  him,  and  kept  him 
dancing  for  their  amusement.  Aunt  Grint,  chromatic, 
grum,  hard-mouthed,  who  looked  as  if  she  had  been  kiln- 
dried,  and  all  her  natural  juices  evaporated  off, —  how  she 
sweetened  to  the  children,  and  tiddled  them,  and  caroled  to 
them !  She  was  always  believing  something  was  going  to 
happen  ;  —  she  had  seen  a  strange-looking,  corpse-shaped 
substance  in  the  yolk  of  an  egg ;  and  when  a  member  of  the 


THE    governor's    FAMILY.  141 

family  had  died  a  while  ago,  they  did  not  hang  crape  on 
the  bee-hive.  But  the  children  had  happened,  and  there  was 
no  help  for  it ;  they  were  the  event,  and  Aunt  Grint  was 
confounded  before  it.  Then  she  thought  Munk  was  no 
Christian,  because  he  let  his  coach  carry  ladies  to  balls;  but 
good  a  Christian  as  she  was  herself,  she  could  not  help  loving 
him  when  she  looked  at  his  children.  Then  there  was  Mrs. 
Tunny,  a  sleek,  round,  fubby  piece  of  mortality,  with 
bunches  of  ribbons  in  her  hair,  and"  bunches  in  her  neck, 
who  owned  a  broad-aisle  pew  in  Dr.  Broadwell's  Church, 
—  had  been  to  a  party  at  Judge  Burp's,  —  hired  a  piano  for 
her  daughters,  —  boasted  of  a  cousin  in  New  York,  —  who 
exchanged  bows  with  the  Mayoress,  whom  she  did  not 
know,  and  who  would  not  bow  to  a  great  many  people  that 
she  did  know ;  —  even  she,  all  engulfed  in  a  huge  cotton- 
velvet  sack,  paid  her  duty  to  the  children,  —  stooped  to 
them,  and  toadied  about  them. 

So  we  might  go  round  the  room,  and  tell  how  these  dear 
despots  worked  their  cards,  lording  it  everywhere ;  and  no- 
body could  look  at  anything  else,  or  talk  of  anything  else, 
or  do  for  anything  else,  but  them. 

Richard  and  Munk  were  of  course  in  their  glory,  for  their 
countenances  seemed  to  say,  "  See  there !  Just  what  I  told 
you;  the  children  are  mighty  little  things;  no  matter  what 
Elder  Jabson  says,  they  have  a  masterly  power  on  the  hu- 
man heart." 

There  was  Tunny,  a  little  man,  diffident,  white-faced,  as 
if  he  had  grown  up  under  the  shadow  of  his  wife,  —  how 
richly  he  colored  when  he  held  Memmy  in  his  arms,  —  how 
his  lank  knees  puffed  and  swelled  when  he  trotted  her ! 
Mr.  Gouch,  who  seemed  never  to  have  been  properly  knead- 
ed, so  loose  he  was  in  his  joints,  so  tripping  in  utterance, 
so  quivering  in  the  muscles  of  his  face,  as  if  he  had  done 


142  RICHARD    EDXEY    AND 

nothing  all  his  days  hut  hop  over  logs,  dodge  Silver,  and 
peer  after  Clover,  — ^  came  completely  into  requisition,  and 
displayed  the  education  of  his  life  in  leaping  over  the  chil- 
dren on  the  floor,  bopeeping  to  them  behind  the  sofa,  and 
mouthing  with  Bebby, 

The  children,  of  course,  did  their  best ;  and  being  in  state, 
it  behoved  them  to  magnify  it.  Memmy  got  on  the  floor, 
on  all  fours,  and  Winkle  trod  on  her,  and  tickled  her  with 
his  foot ;  and  Bebby  got  down  too,  like  a  frog,  on  the  floor, 
and,  like  the  frog  in  the  fable,  she  swelled  up  under  his 
feet ;  and  he  repeated  all  he  had  done  to  Memmy ;  and  how 
archly  she  looked  up  to  him,  and  how  she  laughed,  and 
how  they  all  laughed  !  Memmy  whispered  something  to 
Uncle  Richard,  as  if  he  was  her  Prime  Minister;  and 
Bebby  likewise  sought  his  ear,  and  mummed  at  it ;  then  she 
retreated,  and  came  back  again,  and  mummed  some  more; 
and  there  were  additional  peals  of  laughter.  Bebby  could 
not  talk ;  but  she  could  dummy  and  warble  and  crool  and 
caw,  and  look  with  her  eyes  and  point  with  her  finger ;  and 
this  was  a  sort  of  high-born  language,  which  the  common- 
alty around  her  Avere  not  expected  to  understand;  but  it 
puzzled  them,  and  set  them  to  surmising  and  gossiping,  as 
the  actions  of  the  great  are  wont  to  do. 

Uncle  Richard  got  the  singing-books,  and  tliey  sang 
psalm-tunes ;  and  Memmy  and  Bebby  sang  too,  —  and 
did  n't  their  singing  attract  more  attention  than  all  the  rest  ? 
Bebby,  one  would  think,  had  learned  to  sing  in  that  other 
state  of  existence  in  which  metempsychosis  places  us  all ; 
and  she  was  not  yet  familiar  enough  with  our  modes  of  ut- 
terance to  make  herself  intelligible ;  but  all  agreed  that  it 
was  very  wonderful.  While  the  others  were  singing, 
Memmy  got  up  little  concerts  of  her  own,  and  introduced, 
with  an  originality  peculiar  to  herself,  a  medley  of  stanzas, 


THE    GOVERNOR  S    FAMILY. 


143 


beginning,  "  My  Bible  leads  to  Glory,"  "  Get  out  of  the 
way.  Old  Dan  Tucker,"  "  Mary  had  a  little  Lamb,"  "  Wild 
roved  the  Indian  Girl,  bright  Alfarata." 

"  I  fear  we  are  too  happy,"  said  Aunt  Grint ;  "  oh,  I  do! " 

"  You  don't  ? "  answered  Mrs.  Munk,  startled. 

"  Jabson  preaches  at  the  school-house  to-night,  and  we 
are  not  prepared  for  it,"  continued  the  Aunt. 

"  I  know  I  love  the  children  too  well,"  replied  Mrs.  Munk. 

"  There  's  it,"  rejoined  the  other.  "  You  make  idols  of 
them,  and  something  will  happen  to  them.  Jabson  looked 
very  solemn  when  he  went  by  our  house  to-day,  and  I  know 
it 's  a  death.  It  must  be  a  death.  He  looked  so  the  night 
John  Creely  was  taken." 

"  Come,  Aunt,"  interposed  Munk,  "  let  Roxy  alone  this 
time.  She  has  not  digested  all  you  have  told  her  before  ; 
and  it  is  n't  best  to  overload,  body  or  mind." 

"  I  only  want  you  to  attend  to  what  I  tell  you,  Asa,"  she 
rejoined,  "before  it  is  too  late,  and  not  let  the  children  draw 
off  your  affections  so." 

"I  see  through  you,  Aunt,"  returned  Munk;  "I  under- 
stand it  all,  and  you  know  how  't  is,  only  you  are  modest, 
and  won't  say  so.  The  more  my  affections  are  drawn  off, 
the  more  they  keep  pouring  in  ;  and  I  have  such  a  pile  of 
them  here,  I  don't  know,  Aunt,  but  I  should  go  crazy,  if  I 
had  n't  you  to  love.  Bring  in  Jabson  ;  I  would,  love  him 
to-night.  Roxy  has  been  so  bad  here,  this  afternoon,  get- 
ting into  my  lap,  and  kissing  me,  and  looking  so  smiling, 
and  being  so  happy,"  —  he  pinched  his  wife's  ear,  —  "oh, if 
she  had  n't  any  children,  how  good  she  would  be  !  " 

"  Bad  maa  !  "  replied  Aunt  Grint ;  "  bad  Asa,  you  won't 
believe  anything  till  you  see  it  ;  and  when  it  comes,  you  say 
it  is  n't  there." 

"  I  could  sec  better  if  it  were  not  so  dark,  Roxy,"  he  said  j 


144  KICHARD    EDNEY   A:«D 

"you  must  light  the  solar,  —  then  it  will  be  all  as  plain  as  a 
pipe-stem." 

No  sooner  did  Memmy  hear  the  clinking  of  the  glass 
shade  than  she  said,  "  I  can  light  the  taper,"  and  was  per- 
mitted to  demonstrate  her  ability.  She  thrust  the  taper 
through  the  register  of  the  air-tight;  but  when  she  attempted 
to  draw  it  out,  the  flame  was  sucked  in  and  extinguished. 
She  burned  her  face,  and  almost  her  hand,  in  the  under- 
taking, and  had  to  give  it  up.  Memmy-and-Bebby-dom  was 
over !  Their  reign  was  ended.  It  is  the  misfortune  of 
greatness  that,  like  the  Legalist,  if  it  fail  in  one  point,  it  is 
guilty  of  all,  and  can  indemnify  its  blunders  only  by  retire- 
ment. The  children  must  go  to  bed.  Papa  unhooked  and 
untied  Memmy,  and  Mamma  undid  Bebby ;  but  even  now, 
in  disgrace,  as  it  were  to  show  the  true  imperiality  of  their 
natures,  before  they  could  be  rearranged  for  the  bed,  they 
slipped  away,  and  recommenced  their  tantrums  about  the 
room.  But  (hey  were  pursued,  seized,  endued  with  the  cos- 
tume of  obscuritj'',  and  thrust  into  the  truckle-bed. 

Aunt  Grint  exhaled  a  long  sigh,  and  breathed  easier;  and 
expressed  her  sense  of  relief  in  these  words,  "  I  am  glad  it 
is  over !  " 

"  What  is  over  ?  "  asked  Munk. 

"  The  children,"  she  replied. 

"That  is  not  over,"  rejoined  Munk;  "  it  has  only  begun. 
I  go  at  it  to-morrow,  and  keep  it  up  all  the  week." 

"If  you  would  only  go  to  the  meetings,"  said  his  aunt; 
"  the  Reformation  is  commenced,  and  they  are  to  be  held 
every  day,  as  long  as  the  Lord  will." 

"  I  am  going  to  the  meetings,"  added  he ;  "  Roxy  is 
going,  Winkle  is  going,  —  we  are  all  going." 

"  Not  Tunny  and  I,"  exclaimed  Mrs.  Tunny. 

"Yes;  Tunny  and  you,"  replied  Munk. 


THE    governor's    FAMILY.  145 

"Not  Tunny  and  I,"  retorted  the  lady;  "they  are  noisj-, 
riffrafTy,  and  smell  of  cowheel  and  codfisli,  —  uncomfortable 
to  polite  minds,  disrelishable  to  respectable  society,  and  dan- 
gerous to  genteel  young  ladies.  Faustina  shall  not  go,  nor 
Theodoric.  Dr.  Broadwell  does  not  approve  of  them,  nor 
Parson  Smith,  and  they  are  men  of  taste." 

"  Yes,  all,"  continued  Munk  ;  "  we  have  begun  to-night, 
and  we  will  go  on,  press  on,  pray  on,  sing  on.  Come,  Uncle 
Richard,  help  us  to  some  more  music." 

"I  can't  let  the  chance  pass,"  said  Aunt  Grint,  "  without 
saying  to  Mrs.  Tunny  that  what  the  Lord  approves  is  good 
enough  for  her  to  approve,  and  that  the  souls  of  the  right- 
eous will  shine  at  the  last  day,  when  some  other  souls  will 
not  look  quite  so  well." 

Mrs.  Tunny  nodded  to  Aunt  Grint,  and  smiled. 

"All,"  pursued  Munk,  as  he  turned  the  leaves  of  the 
Psalm-book,  "  all  go  to  meeting,  all  sing,  all  good,  all  hap- 
py. Bless  the  Lord  for  what  we  have,  and  are,  and  can  be, 
and  is  always  a  being,  and  a  happening ;  bless  him  for  Dr. 
Broadwell,  Parson  Smith,  and  Elder  Jabson,  and  Meminy 
and  Bcbby I  " 

They  sang,  and  softened  down ;  and  becoming  very  mu- 
sical, they  sang  more.    Aunt  Grint  thought  they  might  have 
some  praying;  and  if  nobody  else  would  pray,  she  would. 
Richard  prayed,  and  they  parted. 
13 


CHAPTEK    X. 

A   CHAPTER    RESPECTING   WHICH    THERE    IS  A    DOTTBT   WHETHER 

IT     OUGHT     TO     BE     INTRODUCED.        N.     B.  NONE     BUT     THE 

PRINTER    OBLIGED    TO    READ    IT. 

There  is  one  point  which,  as  faithful  historian  of  Rich- 
ard, and  his  times  and  place,  we  shall  be  obliged  to  men- 
tion. Yet,  since  it  connects  us  with  a  controversy  of  a 
nature  equally  intricate,  obscure,  and  exciting,  involving 
such  numbers  of  people,  and  one  many  of  the  parties  to 
which  still  survive,  we  would  gladly  omit  it.  Still,  as  the 
narrative  cannot  proceed  without  allusions  thereto,  we  ad- 
dress ourselves  to  the  task  before  us. 

It  was  a  question,  in  a  word,  of  Cats  and  Dogs  ;  yet,  insig- 
nificant as  this  may  appear,  there  are  few  things  in  the 
course  of  human  affairs  that  have  attained  so  much  conse- 
quence, or  threatened  so  serious  results.  The  origin  of  the 
dispute  it  is  not  easy  to  trace,  but  its  principal  elements  are 
more  readily  deduced.  Many  years  anterior  to  this  tale,  a 
respectable  individual  of  Woodylin  had  his  cat  worried  by  a 
dog.  A  dispute  arose  with  the  owner  of  the  dog.  Fami- 
lies were  inflamed,  neighborhoods  took  sides,  and  at  last 
the  virhole  city  was  drawn  into  the  controversy.  One  party 
would  have  all  the  cats  killed ;  the  other  denounced  the  dogs. 

There  was  no  harmony  of  purpose.  Those  who  sought 
to  destroy  the  dogs  wished  to  preserve  the  cats ;  on  the 
other  hand,  whoever  was  friendly  to  a  dog  became  the 
determined  enemy  of  a  cat.  Two  parties  were  formed,  and 
officered,  and   drilled,  and  propagated.     The   newspapers 


RICHARD    EDNEY,    ETC.  147 

espoused,  one  doctrine  or  the  other ;  and  when  Richard  came 
to  the  place,  there  were  two  dailies,  discriminated  according 
to  the  sentiment  of  the  times.  One  of  these  was  called 
The  Catapult,  a  name  borrowed  from  an  ancient  piece  of 
ordnance  which  was  understood  to  have  been  employed 
against  cats.  The  other  bore  the  name  of  Dogbane ;  the 
sense  of  which  is  obvious.  The  people  were  sometimes 
called  Dogs,  or  Cats,  according  to  theirrespective  preferences. 
The  subject-matter  was  ordinarily  denominated  "  Phuni- 
bics."     The  origin  of  this  term  cannot  be  discovered. 

Phumbics,  if  I  may  so  say,  formed  much  of  the  spirit  and 
temper  of  the  city, — became  part  of  the  popular  feeling, 
and  entered  into  many  public  acts.  It  opened  various  and 
lucrative  offices.  It  determined  the  election  of  Mayor  and 
Aldermen  ;  and  sometimes,  even,  it  was  whispered  that  a 
Clergyman  owed  his  living  to  his  peculiar  phumbical  senti- 
ments. Phumbical  meetings  were  held ;  processions  insti- 
tuted, and  flags  hoisted ;  there  were  phumbical  Reading- 
ing-rooms  and  Hotels. 

Whenever  the  Dogbanians  came  into  power,  you  would 
perceive  a  violent  tremor  in  all  the  streets  and  thorough- 
fares of  the  city.  Men,  armed  with  stout  clubs  pursued  the 
objects  of  their  fury  ;  the  yelping  of  dogs  tormented  the  ear; 
their  blood  glaired  the  sidewalks,  and  their  carcasses  filled 
the  docks. 

These  measures  were  of  course  retaliated,  in  the  event  of 
a  change  of  administration;  the  Dog-haters  were  hurled 
from  place,  and  the  Cat-killers  assumed  the  reins  of  affairs. 
The  hour  of  their  operations  was  partly  in  the  night,  and 
the  scenes  of  their  attack  were  chiefly  the  neighborhood  of 
houses.  They  scoured  wood-sheds  and  barns  ;  they  chased 
their   victims   through   yards   and   gardens.     Wherever  a 


148  RICHARD    EDNEY    AND 

mewing  was  heard,  to  that  point  scores  of  men  were  seen 
staving  and  hallooing. 

Of  the  merits  of  this  controversy  we  shall  not  speak. 
The  leading  arguments  were  these.  The  Dogbanians 
asserted  that  dogs  were  dangerous ;  that  they  frequently 
bit  people,  and  dispensed  that  terrible  malady,  canine  mad- 
ness ;  and  were  at  all  times  the  terror  of  the  women  and  chil- 
dren. The  other  party  declaimed  on  the  great  annoyance 
of  cats ;  their  terrific  screams  in  the  night,  so  detrimental 
to  the  sick,  and  so  hostile  to  the  repose  of  every  one.  In 
addition,  their  pilfering  habits  were  portraj'^ed,  and  elaborate 
fables  published  showing  the  quantities  of  meat,  poultry, 
pies,  etc.,  they  annually  wasted.  The  number  of  their 
incursions  into  the  larder  and  the  cellar  was  reckoned  up. 
They  allowed,  indeed,  the  usefulness  of  the  cat  as  rat-catcher 
and  hearth-rug  companion  ;  but  their  aversion  chiefly  vented 
itself  against  so  many  foreign  cats,  and  the  endless  multi- 
plication of  cats.  Foreign  cats,  they  said,  injured  the  util- 
ity of- our  own  cats  ;  spoiled  their  habits,  and  prevented  the 
proper  end  for  which  the  cat  Avas  designed. 

The  other  party,  again,  commended  dogs  for  their  watch- 
fulness and  sociability,  and  were  willing  that  the  race 
should  be  preserved ;  and  only  sought  to  impose  proper 
restrictions  upon  it,  and  lessen  its  liability  to  evil. 

They  might  have  discriminated,  and  discrimination  was 
a  word  ever  on  their  tongue.  Yet,  practically,  were  they 
always  in  extremes ;  excited  feeling,  in  this,  as  in  most 
human  afTairs,  sweeping  off  the  deliberateness  of  judgment. 

AVere  there  not  some  who  perceived  whatever  advantages 
and  disadvantages  pertained  to  both  races,  and  who  would 
apply  protection  wherever  it  Avas  deserved,  and  practise  ex- 
termination to  the  extent  it  was  needed  ?  There  were  ;  and 
these  were   called  fence-men,  and  had  no  repute.     They 


THE    governor's    FAMILY.  149 

Avere  accounted  persons  without  decision  and  without  judg-- 
ment.  WhitBers,  temporizers,  trimmers,  were  the  softest 
epithets  allowed  them. 

Let  it  not  be  implied  that  Phumbics  was  the  sole-absorb- 
ing topic  of  Woo;lyliu.  It  was  not ;  and  only  at  critical 
intervals  —  just  before  an  election,  or  something  of  that 
sort  —  did  it  rage. 

It  was,  also,  tacitly  understood  among  the  people,  that 
there  were  many  subjects,  occasions,  and  places,  where  it 
was  not  admissible.  For  instance,  it  was  a  part  of  the  con- 
stitution of  the  Lyceum,  that  the  question  of  Cats  and  Dogs 
should  be  touched  by  no  lecturer.  The  Sons  of  Temper- 
ance, by  solemn  vote,  decreed  that  it  should  not  be  named 
in  their  halls.  From  the  Pulpit  it  was  supposed  to  be  ex- 
cluded, and  one  Clergyman  gave  great  offence,  and  was 
charged  with  violating  the  comity  of  the  times,  by  reading 
a  portion  of  Scripture,  in  which  the  exhortatioir  occurs, 
Beware  of  dogs.  It  was  said  he  emphasized  the  words,  and 
uttered  them  with  a  peculiar  snarl  of  the  voice,  whereby  the 
friends  of  that  race  were  aggrieved.  It  was  an  interdicted 
topic  in  schools ;  social  parties  were  not  expected  to  be  dis- 
turbed by.it,  and  it  was  considered  no  ground  of  divorce 
between  man  and  wife. 

It  did  determine  the  course  of  trade  somewhat.  Cata- 
pulters  transacted  business  with  Catapulters,  and  Dogbani- 
ans  were  expected  to  patronize  Dogbanians.  Yet  a  merchant 
did  not  ordinarily  ask  after  the  Phumbics  of  his  customer, 
when  a  good  bargain  was  on  the  threshold. 

The  even  tenor  of  things,  whether  it  be  that  of  aversion 
or  amity,  however,  was  interrupted  by  the  rise  of  another 
party,  who  called  themselves  Hydriatics,  or  Water-men. 
They  said  the  questions  that  had  so  long  agitated  the  pub- 
lic mind  were  trifling  and  useless,  —  that  weightier  issues 
13# 


150  RICHARD    EDNEY    AND 

should  be  considered.  Their  doctrine  was,  that  more  water 
should  be  used ;  that  men  ought  to  be  washed,  —  the  city- 
cleansed  and  purified.  On  these  principles,  they  gained 
many  adherents;  held  public  meetings,  diverted  men  from  the 
old  parties,  and  appeared  with  considerable  force  at  the  polls. 
Their  numbers  were  composed  of  simple  and  well-meaning 
people.     They  established  a  paper,  called  The  Einser. 

Now  commenced  what  was  called  a  triangular  fight,  each 
party  having  to  shoot  two  ways.  But  the  old  parties  did  not 
unite  and  expel  the  new  sect,  —  a  thing  which  might  easily 
have  been  accomplished ;  rather  they  became  more  and  more 
embittered  against  each  other.  Still  the  Hydriatics  were 
the  subjects  of  not  a  little  abuse  from  both  quarters.  It  was 
said  that  it  was  not  their  real  object  to  benefit  the  city,  but 
to  arrive  at  its  emoluments.  "  They  would  clean  it,  indeed, 
by  rifling  its  offices  !  Spunge  the  inhabitants  !  Undoubt- 
edly." If  a  member  of  the  old  parties  joined  the  new,  he 
was  said  to  be  a  disappointed  man,  and  reviled  as  a  traitor. 

The  anti-dogs  were,  at  one  period,  greatly  excited.  It 
was  mid-summer,  and  the  Hydriatics  were  very  active.  It 
got  bruited  that  it  was  the  object  of  these  interlopers  to 
introduce  water  into  the  city,  and  set  the  dogs  mad,  and 
fill  the  place  with  confusion  and  death ;  and  out  of  the 
general  distress  and  alarm  extract  personal  benefit,  by  plun- 
der or  usurpation. 

Diabolical  plots  and  mischievous  artifices  were  continu- 
ally discovered. 

If  we  dwell  at  all  on  matters  that  are  familiar  to  any  of 
our  readers,  it  is  that  our  distant  friends,  the  Turks  and 
Tartars,  may  have  a  more  complete  insight  into  Life  in  the 
New  World. 

The  Editor  of  the  Dogbane,  a  keen-eyed  man,  earnestly 
devoted  to  the  interests  of  the  city,  but  quite  sensitive  to 


THE    governor's    FAMILY.  151 

innovation,  writes,  one  morning,  as  follows  :  "  A  new  ruse 
of  the  Catapults  !  —  The  leaders  of  that  party,  who  scruple 
at  nothing  where  their  own  interests  are  concerned,  have 
been  known  to  be  busy,  for  a  long  time,  about  the  Hatters' 
and  Furriers'  shops;  and  it  is  understood  those  trades  have 
consented  to  vote  the  opposition  ticket.  The  secret  is  out. 
These  unprincipled  demagogues,  in  case  they  come  into 
power,  have  bargained  to  make  a  free-gift  of  the  skins  of  all 
the  cats  that  are  killed  to  those  artificers,  who  work  them 
into  muffs  and  tippets." 

The  Editor  of  the  Catapult,  likewise  keen-eyed,  very 
Woodylian,  but  perhaps  too  much  concerned  for  party, 
replied,  the  next  morning,  in  this  wise :  "  Our  neighbor, 
across  the  River,  need  not  attempt  to  pull  wool  or  fur  over  our 
eyes.  He  discloses  his  own  baseness.  The  Apothecaries 
have  been  bribed  to  desert  the  only  principles  on  which  the 
good  of  the  community  depends,  by  a  promise  of  a  monopoly 
in  the  sale  of  strichnine.  The  city,  which  is  already  largely 
in  debt  for  that  article,  is  to  pay  w^hatever  price  infamy  and 
treachery  shall  demand." 

We  clip  the  following  from  the  papers  of  the  time. 

"  Coalition  !  —  Another  Plate  of  Abominations  ! 

"  The  Butchers  have  joined  the  Hydriatics,  under  a  bar- 
gain that  if  they  carry  the  election  the  ordinance  for  the 
throwing  of  the  carcasses  of  cats  and  dogs  into  the  River 
shall  be  revoked !  A  more  abominable  device  to  ruin  the 
credit  of  Woodylin  with  the  eating  public  could  not  have 
been  got  up  in  the  conclave  below ! " 

" ,  who  vociferated  in  the  Catapultian  caucus  last 

night,  true  to  his  instincts,  is  offended  by  the  loss  of  a 
favorite  dog,  which  had  bitten  a  horse  and  tw-o  children, 


152  RICHARD    EDNEV    AND 

before  it  could  be  destroyed.  Such  selfishness  is  worthy  of 
the  Catapults,  and  may  they  make  the  most  of  it !  " 

" ,  whom  the  Dogbanians  have   taken  into  favor, 

is  seeking  reparation  for  injury  done  to  his  garden,  in  the 
attempt  to  break  up  a  nest  of  cats,  whose  hideous  cries,  under 
the  window  of  a  sick  neighbor,  caused  the  patient  to  re- 
lapse into  fits.     Pay  the  wretch  ! " 

The  Tanners,  having  got  a  charter  for  a  Dog-hide  Tan- 
ning establishment,  applied  to  Congress  for  an  increase  of 
duty  on  that  species  of  merchandise.  This  measure  pro- 
voked a  singular  hash  in  the  public  feeling.  A  violent 
debate  arose  as  to  whether  it  would  diminish  the  number 
of  dogs.  Some  said,  of  course  it  would,  —  it  will  kill  them 
off;  others  said,  Nay,  it  will  be  a  premium  for  their  produc- 
tion. Some,  who  hated  high  tariffs  and  dogs  with  equal 
acerbity,  went  almost  frantic  with  doubt  and  uncertainty. 
Certain  Catapulters,  who  were  alike  attached  to  high  tariffs 
and  to  dogs,  were  on  the  point  of  committing  suicide.  The 
parties  criminated  and  recriminated.  Again,  Catapult- 
ers were  seen  electioneering  for  Dogbanians.  Then  they 
charged  all  the  evil  on  the  Hydriatics,  who  had  introduced 
the  project,  they  said,  for  the  purpose  of  weakening  both 
the  old  parties,  and  aiding  themselves.  What  gave  color 
to  this  suspicion,  was  the  fact  that  the  Tanners  had  negoti- 
ated with  the  Hydriatics,  in  case  they  succeeded  in  their 
plan  of  bringing  an  aqueduct  into  the  city,  for  a  supply  of 
water  from  that  source  for  their  establishment.  The  Butch- 
ers, who  had  already  gone  over  to  the  new  party,  it  was 
reported,  were  combining  for  the  purchase  of  the  carcasses. 
The  Tanners  had,  also,  won  over  the  Shoe-makers,  and  the 
Leather-dealers.  It  was  rumored  that  the  Farmers  in  the 
neighboring   towns   were    making   extensive   preparations 


THE    governor's    FAMILY.  153 

for  the  raising  of  dogs;  and  such  as  had  bark  to  sell, 
were  all  agog  iii  anticipation  of  a  lively  market.  Then 
it  was  suggested  that  Cat-skin  tanning  would  come  into 
vogue,  and  works  for  that  purpose  be  built,  and  new  duties 
demanded ;  and  this  created  fresh  consternation. 

Where  the  matter  might  have  ended,  we  cannot  say,  if 
the  dogs  had  not  betimes  taken  the  decision  into  their  own 
hands,  and  in  mortal  dread  of  the  fate  that  awaited  them, 
wasted  away,  so  that  the  Butchers  would  not  have  their 
flesh,  and  their  hides  became  too  dry  and  crisp  for  the  Tan- 
ners. 

We  repeat  that  Phumbics,  except  at  brief  periods,  was" 
not  an  absorbing  theme,  save  with  those  who  made  it  a  pro- 
fession and  trade  ;  and  at  the  time  Richard  came  to  the 
city,  the  excitement  had  materially  exhausted  itself.  The 
great  interests  of  life,  the  diversified  occupations  of  human 
beings,  the  Family,  the  School,  and  the  Church ;  trade  and 
manufactures;  the  farm,  the  factory,  and  the  ship-yard; 
wooing  and  marrj'ing,  preserved  their  balance,  and  exerted 
their  supremacy. 


CHAPTER    XI, 


A    PARTY    AT    TUNNY  S. 


This  was  to  be  a  grand  affair.  The  note  of  preparation 
sounded  long  and  loud :  it  rattled  at  the  door  of  many- 
houses  ;  it  purled  in  the  ears  of  Judges  and  Clergymen ;  it 
whirred  about  the  Confectioner's,  and  rebounded  to  the 
Fruiterer's,  and  darted  away  to  the  Milliner's  and  Fancy 
Goods  Dealer's.  Munk  and  his  wife  and  Richard  went. 
Richard  fairly  struck  his  high  colors  to  the  persuasions  of 
his  sister,  and  ran  up  instead  a  white  collar  and  bosom- 
piece. 

The  note  of  preparation,  like  the  wind  to  which  we 
thoughtlessly  likened  it,  passed  by  many  persons  unheeded. 
But  there  were  enough  there.  The  two  parlors,  connected 
by  folding-doors,  swam  with  guests.  The  Milliner's  and 
Fancy  Goods  Dealer's  had  evidently  come.  Clover  was 
there,  and  Plumy  Alicia ;  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Xyphers,  Captain 
Creamer,  and  Judge  Burp;  and  there  were  many  other  per- 
sons from  the  Factories  and  the  Mills,  and  all  the  region 
about.  And  Mrs.  Tunny  was  there,  —  indeed  she  was,  and 
it  seemed  as  if  half  the  Milliner's  and  Fancy  Goods  Dealer's 
clustered  in  her  single  person ;  and  what  she  could  spare 
had  gone  to  her  daughter  Faustina.  Mrs.  Tunny  curtsied 
to  Richard  so  stiffly,  so  amazingly,  it  embarrassed  the  bow 
he  was  executing,  and  converted  it  into  a  horrid  bungle. 
Richard  himself  blushed ;  and  his  sister,  who  was  truly 
proud  of  him,  —  proud  of  his  fine  figure,  and  fine  face,  and 
proud  too,  I  must  say,  in  justice  to  her,  of  his  noble  heart,  - — 


KICHARD    EDXEY,    ETC.  155 

blushed  also.  And  by  the  time  he  had  finished  Tunny, 
and  got  through  with  Faustina,  he  was  in  a  truly  shocking 
state.  He  lost  his  rudder,  his  feet,  foundered  on  his  hands ; 
and  made  for  a  blank  place  on  the  wall,  as  a  haven,  like  a 
vessel  in  distress.  But  here  was  Plumy  Alicia,  glittering 
with  jewelrj^  and  beaming  with  sensibility.  Ah,  wicked, 
wicked  Plumy  Alicia !  how  could  you  exert  your  art 
to  re"»ssure  Kichard  so?  How  could  you  take  advantage 
of  that  moment  to  show  him  that  you  did  not  mind  his 
awkwardness,  but  only  regarded  himself,  so?  And  when 
you  got  him  to  face  the  room,  right  in  the  midst  of  the 
lights,  right  in  the  midst  of  the  Milliner's  and  Fancy  Goods 
Dealer's,  there  stood  Clover,  with  the  fingers  of  one  hand 
thrust  in  his  vest,  and  dispensing  perfume  with  a  bouquet 
of  flowers  in  the  other,  —  so  cool,  so  steady,  so  strut,  and 
with  a  snake-like  eye,  looking  down  on  Richard  so  triumph- 
antly ;  —  and  you  knew  it  all,  —  how  could  you  do  so  ?  You 
are  a  medley  of  elements.  And  so  Richard  thought;  at 
least,  you  laid  the  seeds  of  that  thought  in  his  memory, 
which  was  to  spring  up  by-and-by.  There  was  also  Captain 
Creamer,  who  looked  resentful  and  surly,  even  when  he  did 
his  best  to  salute  you  in  a  polite  way.  And  there  was 
Mrs.  Xyphers,  with  whom  Clover  was  talking ;  and  when 
Richard  would  have  exchanged  with  her  the  compliments 
of  the  evening,  you  even  drew  him  back;  you  pouted,  in  a 
quiet,  but  stealing,  very  stealing  manner,  your  pretty  lips, 
and  Richard  only  half  did  what  he  set  out  to  do.  Then 
you  had  him  all  to  yourself;  and  you  were  so  amiable, 
so  round-cornered,  so  genteel,  —  what  did  you  mean? 
Would  you  make  Richard  love  you  ?  Let  me  tell  you, 
Plumy  Alicia,  Richard  could  not  love  you;  —  I  mean,  the 
depths,  the  teeming  crN'pts,  the  abej^ant  longings  of  his 
nature,  you  could  not  thrill;  —  and  I  believe  you  knew  it. 


156  RICHARD   EDNEY   AND 

Yet,  you  could  exert  a  magical  power ;  and  that  you  did 
know. 

There  sat  on  the  sofa,  quite  unobtrusively  and  unseduc- 
tively  ensconced  behind  the  jam  of  people,  a  woman  plainly 
dressed,  with  dark  eyes,  and  bands  of  rich  black  hair.  Her 
face  was  comely,  but  not  handsome ;  her  eye  was  small  and 
retreating,  but  expressive  of  great  earnestness,  thought  and 
animation ;  so  much  so  that  Richard  looked  at  her  twice. 
Miss  Eyre,  kindly  attentive  to  the  motions  of  our  friend,  said 
it  was  Miss  Freeling,  a  dressmaker.  At  Richard's  request, 
she  presented  him,  and  he  took  his  seat  by  the  stranger. 
If  Richard  had  been  flurried  by  Miss  Tunn}%  and  ravished 
by  Miss  Eyre,  he  was  quite  restored  by  Miss  Freeling.  They 
talked  about  the  weather,  as  everybody  else  on  first  meeting 
must  do ;  and  spoke  to  the  mooted  question,  whether  after 
so  severe  a  winter  we  should  have  an  early  spring.  The 
thought  of  spring,  when  it  did  come,  gave  to  Miss  Freeling 
the  same  sort  of  halcyon,  saltatory,  juvenescent  feeling  that 
Richard  had,  and  this  made  them  seem  like  old  friends. 
Moreover,  Miss  Fneeling  expressed  the  hope  that  she  should 
be  attacked  by  no  more  snow-storms,  since,  she  said,  it  pain- 
fully suggested  her  inferiority  to  nature ;  and  she  related 
how,  a  little  while  before,  she  had  been  worsted  in  such  en- 
counter, and  was  rescued  by  some  angel-man,  she  would  be 
glad  to  know  who.  Now,  this  angel-man  was  Richard,  and 
this,  of  course,  transformed  them  into  the  very  best  of 
friends. 

Then  Miss  Freeling  knew  a  great  many  people ;  and  she 
knew  Asa  and  Roxy,  and  Aunt  Grint,  and  ]\Iemmy  and 
Bebby;  that  was  enough.  But  if  she  had  known  a  deal 
more,  —  if  she  had  known  whether  Pope  was  a  poet,  or 
where  Captain  Kidd  hid  his  money,  or  who  the  man  in  the 
Iron  Mask  was,  —  she  would  have  been  obliged  to  stop  ;  for 


THE    governor's    FAMILY.  157 

every  one  in  the  room  stopped,  and  Richard  turned  his 
head,  and  she  turned  her  head,  to  see  Mrs.  Tunny  advance 
to  receive  Dr.  Broadwell.  Yes,  that  lady  advanced  several 
steps,  when  that  venerable  form  was  seen  entering  the  door, 
having-  on  his  arm  one  of  his  daughters. 

"Mrs.  Tunny  mistakes  her  part,"  observed  Miss  Freeling  ; 
"  she  should  keep  her  standing,  and  wait  for  the  guest  to 
approach," 

"  I  am  not  expert  in  the  rules  of  good  societj^,"  replied 
Eichard. 

"  Mrs.  Tunny  should  be,"  said  Miss  Freeling  ;  "  she  tries 
hard  enough  to  be." 

"  The  disdain  of  the  woman  is  more  reprehensible  than 
her  want  of  manners,"  added  Richard, 

"  She  was  a  dressmaker,  and  I  was  apprenticed  to  her ; 
and  I  know  her  sufficiently  well." 

"  She  must  have  some  good  feelings,  as  Pastor  Harold 
says." 

"  She  has,  but  they  are  buried  beneath  a  mountain  of 
worldliness  and  ribbons." 

"  Elder  Jabson  is  no  favorite  of  hers." 

"He  was  once,  until  she  discovered  that  Dr.  Broadwell's 
Church  was  richer  and  more  fashionable." 

"  She  visits  at  Mr.  Munk's,  and  his  family  go  to  the 
Elder's  meeting." 

"  She  would  forget  them  speedily,  but  for  her  interest. 
Munk  and  St.  John  are  customers  of  her  husband's,  and 
help  to  keep  her  plumes  a  nodding.  For  the  same  reason 
her  entertainment  to-night  comprises  many  from  the  Facto- 
ries and  the  Mills,  whom  she  draws  not  in  the  train  of  her 
feelings,  but  her  necessities.  Her  dress  is  not  in  taste,  — 
indeed,  she  never  had  any  taste  ;  her  cap  is  a  mile  too  small, 
14 


168  RICHAKD    EDNEY   AND 

her  tunic  is  unsuited  to  her  figure,  and  her  white  skirt  ter- 
minates in  yellow  slippers." 

"  At  home,  we  had  but  one  Church,  one  people,  one 
rank,  one  intimacy." 

"  Here  there  are  many ;  and  I  know  something  of  them 
all.  I  have  worked  in  every  family,  from  the  summit  to  the 
base  of  the  social  frame.  I  have  made  brocade  dresses  for 
Governor  Bennington's  daughters,  and  muslin  ones  for 
Tunny's ;  Dr.  Broad  well's  daughter  was  under  my  fingers 
before  she  came  here,  and  so  was  j\Irs.  Xj'^phers." 

"What  is  the  difference  ?" 

"  All  women  look  pretty  much  alike  to  a  dressmaker. 
There  is  but  little  odds  in  waists,  upper  ten  or  lower  ten. 
What  we  study  is  forms,  and  what  we  aim  at  is  a  fit." 

"  Are  they  alike  ?  " 

"  They  are  not;  but  the  difference  is  not  perhaps  what 
you  would  think.  It  is  good  se?ise,  more  than  anything 
else.  Lacking  this,  some  aspire  to  what  they  cannot  reach, 
—  others  tread  on  what  they  cannot  depress.  With  it 
Munk  and  the  Mayor  are  equally  princely.  Differences ! 
There  are  the  Gum-chewers,  —  all  backlotters,  and  vulgar. 
But  why,  my  good  Sir,  is  gum  more  base  in  woman  than 
tobacco  in  a  man  ?  There  are  the  Rocker-footed  and  the 
Square-footed;  the  vulgar,  in  stepping,  go  over  from  the 
heel  to  the  toe,  like  the  rocker  of  a  cradle ;  the  genteel  tread 
square.     These  are  some  of  the  wonderful  differences  !  " 

"The  other  night,  at  our  house,  Mrs.  Tunny  berated 
Elder  Jabson's  people  and  meetings ;  lessening  their  char- 
acters and  deprecating  their  influence." 

"  They  were  vulgar,  she  said  ;  and  added,  I  suppose,  that 
Dr.  Broadwell  did  not  approve  of  them.  The  Doctor  is  her 
cue  ;  and  she  alights  about  him,  and  follows  his  track,  as 
birds  do  a  ploughman,  for  the  worms  that  are  turned  up  in 


THE    governor's    FAMILY.  159 

the  furrow.  But  the  forms  of  religion,  or  the  modes  in 
which  it  is  applied,  do  work  characteristic  and  deep- 
seated  changes.  Into  whatever  family  I  go,  I  can  very  soon 
perceive  what  Church  they  attend,  and  what  is  the  turn  of 
their  religious  views.  Elder  Jabson  seems  to  me  like  a  silly 
dressmaker,  —  and  I  am  sometimes  that  one  myself,  —  who 
instead  of  studying  becomingness,  aims  at  effect ;  he  pro 
duces  nothing  beautiful, — his  labors  result  in  jauntiness 
incongruity  and  distortion.  He  does  not  clothe  the  soul 
but  finifies  it.  His  flounces  are  enormous,  and  he  com 
presses  the  chest  so  that  it  is  almost  impossible  to  breathe 
He  does  not  enlighten  the  mind,  or  refine  the  feelings,  or  re 
strain  the  prejudices,  or  enlarge  the  humanity,  of  his  people 
He  addresses  the  darker  passions, — not  the  tenderness,  or  the 
love,  or  the  aspirations,  of  our  being." 

"  Yet,"  replied  Richard,  "  I  should  prefer  Aunt  Grint  to 
Mrs.  Tunny." 

"  Dr.  Broadwell,"  continued  Miss  Freeling,  "  is  a  most 
excellent  man ;  he  has  good  sense,  and,  so  to  say,  good 
taste;  he  understands  the  soul,  and  how  Christianity  applies 
to  it,  and  endeavors  that  the  robe  of  righteousness  shall  be 
a  seemly  one.  But  he  has  one  fault ;  he  makes  his  people 
think  too  much  of  their  dresses  ;  and  he  has  a  freak  which 
I  cannot  bear,  —  that  there  shall  be  just  five  rows  of  quilling 
on  the  border.  Parson  Smith  has  the  most  perfect  theory 
of  soul-costume,  but  he  does  not  always  succeed  in  working 
it ;  or,  rather,  some  of  his  people  are  so  wild  that,  like  sav- 
ages, they  will  not  wear  their  clothes  when  he  puts  them  on." 

"  Is  there  not  good  sense,"  asked  Eichard,  "  among  the 
lower  orders  as  in  the  higher  ?  " 

"  It  is  good  sense,"  replied  Miss  Freeling,  "  that  creates 
the  higher  orders.  Joined  to  this,  —  sometimes  leading  it, 
sometimes  enforcing  it,  —  are  education,  opportunity,  indus- 


160  RICHARD    EDNEY    AND 

try,  self-denial.  It  is  his  good  sense  in  law,  politics,  busi- 
ness, life,  that  gives  to  Gov.  Dennington  his  distinction.  If 
Mrs.  Tunny  had  more  of  it,  she  would  be  a  respectable 
and  worthy  woman.  She  does  not  make  her  own  daugh- 
ter's dresses,  as  the  busy-bodies  report,  lest  the  prick  of  the 
needle  should  appear  on  her  fingers.  Faustina  is  a  sensible 
girl ;  —  she  is  pursued  by  a  young  man,  a  Sailmaker,  whose 
attentions  she  discards,  as  his  friends  say,  because  of  her 
aristocratic  feelings  ;  as  her  mother  unequivocally  declares, 
because  he  is  a  mechanic  ;  but  as  I  certainly  know,  simply 
and  solely  by  reason  of  his  habits." 

Dr.  Broadwell,  who  was  exchanging  a  word  wuth  those 
he  knew,  recognizing  Richard,  took  hhn  cordially  by  the 
hand,  presented  his  daughter,  and  inquired  after  the  Or- 
phans. Ada  deeply  commiserated  those  unfortunate  ones, 
and  was  pleased  to  know  that  Richard  had  so  kindly 
befriended  them.  These  attentions  of  the  Doctor  were  the 
signal  for  attack  from  other  quarters,  and  several  persons 
shot  at  Richard.  Mrs.  Tunny  bestowed  herself  upon  him, 
and  thrust  Faustina  into  his  face  and  eyes,  adding  Tunny 
gratis.  Captain  Creamer,  though  having  some  scores 
against  Richard,  was  more  complaisant  than  usual,  and 
rejoiced  Richard  could  have  a  taste  of  good  society.  It  was 
a  fine  thing,  he  said,  for  our  young  men  to  imbibe  a  little  pol- 
ish as  they  were  coming  on  to  the  public  stage.  Mrs.  Tunny 
attempted  a  blush,  and  with  her  feather-edged  fan  tapped  the 
Captain  on  the  cheek,  and  called  him  roguish.  A  pair  of 
stern  eyes,  under  a  beetling  brow,  capped  by  a  short  tuft  of 
thick  hair,  were  seen  working  their  way  up  over  the  shoul- 
ders of  Captain  Creamer,  and  scowling  at  Richard.  These 
belonged  to  Measle,  the  wood-surveyor.  "  I  think,"  said  he, 
"  that  our  young  men,  and  all  other  young  men,  had  better 
attend  to   their   own  business."     "An  undoubted  truth," 


THE    governor's    FAMILY.  161 

replied  the  Captain,  "  and  I  am  glad  you  have  mentioned 
it ;  but  we  must  allow  them  moments  of  relaxation."  "  I 
shall  make  no  reply,"  rejoined  the  Surveyor  ;  "  I  have  said 
something,  and  let  those  take  it  to  whom  it  belongs." 

Now  it  happened  that  the  Surveyor  was  joint-suitor  of 
Miss  Faustina  with  the  Sailmaker ;  and  of  course  disagree- 
able to  the  latter,  who  conceived  that  this  something  aimed 
at  himself,  since  he  was  the  younger  of  the  two.  He 
instantly  retorted,  "  I  take  it,  and  will  hold  on  to  it,  and 
remember  it;  and  it  may  be  you  will  see  its  picture  again  ! " 
Richard,  perceiving  the  misunderstanding,  said,  "  The  gen- 
tleman does  not  refer  to  you.  Sir.  He  recalls  a  little  mat- 
ter between  himself  and  me.  But  I  hope  it  will  not  prove 
serious."  "No,"  interjected  Munk,  who  stood  by,  "not 
serious,  —  jocose,  livelj^  playful  as  a  kitten."  The  Surveyor 
was  a  Catapulter,  and  a  violent  partizan;  Munk  was  a 
Hydriatic.  This  feline  allusion  of  the  latter  was  more  than 
the  other  could  bear.  His  back  seemed  instantly  to  crook, 
and  the  hair  on  his  head  to  rise  ;  and  he  glared  on  Munk, 
and  a  faint  hissing  could  be  heard.  The  Sailmaker,  a  Dog- 
bane, instantly  contracted  his  neck,  grated  his  teeth,  and 
emitted  a  distinct  growl.  In  this  way  they  stood  gnashing 
alternately  at  each  other  and  at  Munk,  who  laughed  at  them 
both.  "  Now  is  your  time.  Tunny,"  said  Mrs.  Tunny  to 
her  husband ;  "  show  your  patriotism ;  snarl,  bark,  or  I  shall 
do  it  for  you  !  " 

Scenes  of  this  description  were  of  too  common  occurrence 
either  to  engage  curiosity  or  excite  alarm,  and  Richard  was 
glad  to  make  his  escape.  Threading  his  way  through  a 
daedalian  intricacy  of  cords  and  starch,  where  his  breathing 
was  impeded  by  a  dense  vapor  of  cologne,  he  encountered 
Miss  Eyre.  She  put  her  arm  into  his,  and  drew  him 
towards  the  hall.  "  I  should  not  have  left  you  so  long,"  she 
14^ 


162  RICHARD    EDNEY    AND 

said,  "  but  I  knew  you  would  relish  your  own  reflections  in 
a  place  like  this ;  and  I  have  had  my  reflections,  —  too 
sedate,  too  grave,  for  such  an  hour.  You  have  said  you 
were  my  friend.  You  will  be  glad  of  an  occasion  to  prove 
that  you  are  my  friend,  though  I  am  afliicted  that  it  should 
be  such  an  occasion.  It  is  but  a  trifle  I  ask  of  you,  and 
that  I  know  you  will  do.     Come  with  me  up  stairs." 

He  went  with  her  to  the  upper  entry,  and  she  conducted, 
him  to  a  sort  of  recess  that  overhung  the  stairs  leading  to 
the  rear  of  the  house,  and  motioned  him  to  listen.  Voices 
were  heard  on  these  stairs,  which  were  clearly  distinguisha- 
ble as  Clover's  and  Mrs.  Xyphers'. 

"  Edney  is  out  of  the  way,"  so  Clover  was  heard  to  say. 
"  I  vanquished  him  to-night ;  he  knows  he  is  a  fool,  and  he 
cannot  recover." 

"But  Plumy  Alicia — "Mrs.  Xyphers  replied. 

"  Is  disposed  of,"  answered  Clover.  Miss  Eyre  clasped 
both  hands  on  Richard's  arm. 

"  Xyphers,"  rejoined  Mrs.  Xyphers,  "  I  do  not  value,  —  I 
cannot  value.  His  name  is  his  nature ;  he  is  nought,  and 
the  additional  s  only  doubles  his  emptiness." 

"  Xyphers  is  something,"  replied  Clover  ;  "  his  nothing- 
ness is  something,  or  he  would  not  be  game.  Then  he  was 
interested  in  you,  and  that  shows  that  you  are  an  interest- 
ing woman,  and  that  you  deserve  protection  ;  and  I  should 
be  false  to  my  own  honor,  if  I  did  not  rescue  you  from  such 
imbecility.     You  can  rely  on  my  honor." 

"  I  think  I  can,"  answered  Mrs.  Xyphers,  with  some  hesi- 
tation, as  if  a  new  thought  had  struck  her ;  "  you  said  you 
had  money  of  Plumy  Alicia  ?  "  Clover,  flustering,  said,  "  I 
wish  not  to  talk  of  irrelevant  matters."  But  Mrs.  Xyphers 
insisted,  and  said,  "I  must  talk  about  it."  Miss  Eyre  took 
one  of  Richard's  hands  in  both  of  hers.     Clover  replied, 


THE    GOYEKNOR's  FAMILY.  163 

•'  Plumy  Alicia  was  lavish ;  she  would  have  conciliated  me 
any  way.  She  knew  the  value  of  my  friendship;  she 
deposited  with  me  two  hundred  dollars ;  —  a  mere  tribute  — 
a  sort  of  hostage." 

"  How  can  you  repay  it?"  asked  Mrs.  Xyphers. 

"  Repay  it !  "  sneered  Clover.  "  She  feared  my  anger,  she 
appreciated  my  ability,  she  knew  what  my  alliance  was 
worth;  she  feed  my  discretion."  Miss  Eyre  throbbed  on  the 
breast  of  Richard. 

"  Xyphers'  money  is  his  own,"  rejoined  that  lady,  with 
emotion ;  "  it  is  his  own  earnings ;  he  has  worked  for  it ;  he 
never  denied  me  that ;  but  he  had  not  hearty  and  could  not 
give  it.     Nay,  I  will  not  touch  his  money." 

Dancing  being  called  for  below.  Dr.  Broadwell  and  daugh- 
ter would  retire.  Mrs.  Tunny  followed  them  to  the  dress- 
ing-room up  stairs,  and  servants  were  summoned  to  assist 
them  off.  Clover  and  Mrs.  Xyphers  fled  from  their  retreat. 
Miss  Eyre,  releasing  herself  from  Richard,  said,  "  Do  not 
remain  here ;  go  to  the  drawing-room.  I  will  digest  my 
sorrow  alone."     Richard  went  down. 

The  dancing  lasted  till  supper,  the  announcement  of 
which  silenced  music  and  dissolved  partnerships.  While 
the  mass  crowded  up  stairs  to  the  eating-room,  some  stayed 
below,  and  felt  of  the  muslin  curtains,  looked  at  the  pictures 
on  the  wall,  and  turned  over  the  burnished  books  with 
which  Mrs.  Tunny  freely  loaded  her  tables.  Among  the 
loiterers  were  Richard  and  Miss  Freeling. 

Now  Richard  longed  to  ■  ask  Miss  Freeling,  "  Do  you 
know  Miss  Eyre?  —  what  sort  of  a  girl  is  she  ?"  —  but  he 
knew  more  about  her  than  Miss  Freeling  did,  and  he  had 
come  by  his  knowledge  in  so  confidential  and  secret  a  way, 
and  it  was  so  sacred  a  matter  withal,  he  did  not  dare  to  put 
the  question. 


164  RICHARD    EDNEY    AND 

But  Miss  Eyre  herself  appeared,  roaming  pensively 
across  the  room,  like  a  mourning  shade ;  traces  of  sorrow 
descended  down  her  face  and  dress ;  a  band  of  hair  lay 
pathetically  loose  on  her  forehead,  and  her  look  was  tender 
and  irresistible,  —  full  of  that  sort  of  beauty  with  which  mis^- 
fortune,  when  it  has  taken  everything  else  away,  seems 
sometimes  to  renovate  its  victim. 

Miss  Freeling,  taking  up  the  subject  very  nearly  where 
it  lay  in  Richard's  mind,  said,  "  Miss  Eyre  seems  to  have 
been  born  out  of  her  place.  She  has  powers,  but  no  sphere. 
She  is  certainly  unfortunate  ;  I  should  not  dare  to  call  her 
wicked,  until  I  knew  more  of  the  human  heart  than  I  do 
now.  She  has  some  education,  but  no  discipline ;  she  ob- 
serves, but  never  reflects ;  she  hides  defect  of  character 
with  a  certain  brilliancy  of  temper.  She  insinuates  herself 
by  tact  and  talent,  where  most  people  would  commend 
themselves  by  prudence  and  discretion.  The  attentions  of 
the  coarse  and  illiterate  she  cannot  reciprocate.  The  flat- 
tery of  what  I  should  call  super-sensualism  inflames  her 
vanity,  while  at  the  same  time  she  can  discern  its  mo- 
tive. She  creates  a  sensation  wherever  she  goes,  and 
contrives  to  be  essential  to  a  good  many  persons.  Yet 
modesty  condemns  her,  and  rank  will  not  tolerate  her. 
She  might  have  drudged  in  Silver's  kitchen; — her  des- 
tiny, I  fear,  will  be  to  expatiate  in  larger  and  more  ques- 
tionable fields.  She  might  have  married  Capt.  Creamer ; 
but  he  lacks  sincerity,  which,  after  all,  she  loves.  Clover 
has  more  art,  more  power,  and  more  audacity,  than  she 
has,  and  he  may  outdo  her  in  her  own  line.  She  had  a 
portion  of  her  bringing  up  in  the  Governor's  family ;  but  she 
imbibed  not  the  principles,  but  only  the  consequence,  of  the 
family.  Mrs.  Melbourne  had  her  in  charge  ;  and  the  notions 
of  that  lady,  to  my  thinking,  are  very  —  singular  —  bad. 


THE  governor's  FAMILY.  165 

She  has  the  gift  of  fascination,  but  cherishes  no  ideas  of 
usefulness ;  nor  is  she  fitted  by  culture  for  stations  which 
she  might  otherwise  adorn.  Where  is  the  home  that  shall 
offer  her  happiness,  contentment,  and  repose?  A  man 
under  these  circumstances,  if  he  does  not  relapse  into 
drunkenness,  will  keep  his  virtue,  vindicate  his  capacity, 
and  find  his  place.     What  shall  a  Factory-girl  do  ?  " 

Richard  was  oppressed ;  he  knew  too  much,  and  he  knew 
too  little,  to  say  anything,  and  he  kept  silence.  Besides, 
Plumy  Alicia  turned  to  him  so  smiling,  sad  indeed,  but  so 
grateful  and  azure  a  face,  that  what  he  would  like  to  have 
said  was  snatched  from  his  tongue's  end. 

Miss  Freeling,  without  observing  these  pantomimic  pas- 
sages, continued.  "  Yonder,"  said  she,  pointing  to  a  man 
on  the  opposite  side  of  the  room,  "  is  Mr.  Cosgrove,  a  car- 
penter, and  a  member  of  Parson  Smith's  Church,  which 
you  have  heard  is  aristocratic.  He  came  to  the  city  a  poor 
boy.  He  possessed  intelligence,  energy,  and  ambition.  He 
pursues  a  useful  trade,  and  strives  to  perfect  himself  in  it. 
He  has  good  sense,  withal.  The  defects  of  his  early  educa- 
tion he  has  repaired  by  later  application.  He  is  a  large 
contractor  for  houses,  and  advances  to  opulence.  He  visits 
among  our  nobility,  and  is  welcome  in  the  most  polished 
circles.  His  powers  have  been  not  only  developed,  but 
employed.     Would  you  like  to  know  him  ? " 

She  introduced  Richard  to  Mr.  Cosgrove,  and  he  liked 
his  new  acquaintance  very  well. 

Those  who  had  gone  first  to  the  supper  beginning  to 
withdraw,  opening  was  made  for  the  others.  Mr.  Cosgrove 
squired  Miss  Freeling;  Richard,  seeing  Miss  Eyre  standing 
alone  and  aloof,  offered  his  arm.  But  she  declined,  and 
said  she  would  not  eat.  So  Richard  proceeded  alone  to  the 
rendezvous   of   attraction.      If  the   Confectioner  and  the 


166  RICHARD    EDNEY    AND 

Fruiterer  had  been  there,  so  had  the  Eater,  and  there  only 
remained  the  fragments  of  a  sumptuous  fare. 

Mr.  Cosgrove  handed  Richard  a  glass  of  water,  which  he 
drank.  The  Surveyor  and  the  Sailmaker,  whose  frenzy  a 
liberal  drench  of  wine  had  not  reduced,  were  at  once 
aroused.  "  Mr.  Cosgrove  dare  not  offer  it !  "  said  the  one. 
"  The  young  man  dare  not  drink  it !  "  said  the  other.  Hav- 
ing uttered  this,  they  both  underwent  the  beastly  metamor- 
phosis, one  growling  and  the  other  mewing.  Clover,  a 
violent  Phumbician,  approached ;  he  had  one  arm  devoted 
to  Mrs.  Xyphers,  the  other  he  presented  to  the  attention  of 
Eichard,  giving  it  the  fisticuff  form  and  the  snapping  mo- 
tion in  which  the  expert  delighted  to  display  itself.  He 
said,  "  The  barbarian  will  do  it ;  he  is  mean  enough  to  chip 
off  an  insult  into  the  eyes  of  the  City's  honor ;  but  here  is 
the  power  that  shall  chastise  his  insolence  !  "  Richard  laid 
hold  of  the  arm,  and  lowered  it,  and  held  it  down ;  and 
Clover  could  not  raise  it.  It  was  Clover's  left  arm,  and 
Richard  used  his  right.  It  was  a  strong  arm,  indeed ;  it 
labored  like  the  piston  of  a  steam-engine,  but  it  could  not 
be  disengaged.  "  There  is  its  place,"  said  Richard ;  "and 
this  is  mine." 

"  Tunny !  "  cried  the  female  head  of  the  house,  "  Tunny, 
speak !  "  "  Water,"  said  the  little  male,  answering  the  call 
of  his  spouse,  in  a  thin,  child-like  voice,  —  "water  is  whole- 
some, it  is  respectable;  I  am  for  water,  myself,  [a  hiss,] 
but  I  would  not  make  it  an  absorbing  topic ;  we  are  in  dan- 
ger of  getting  one  idea  on  the  subject ;  I  should  say  half 
an  idea  was  better!  Shall  w^e  break  up  the  city  with 
water  ?  What  danger  of  falling  into  the  ditches,  and  losing 
our  lives  !  I  am  for  reasonable  water,  and  will  never  counte- 
nance these  sanguinary  measures  !  But,  gentlemen,  allow 
me  to  say,  our  troubles  are  not  water ;   but  —  shall  I  say 


THE    governor's    FAMILY.  167 

it?  I  must  say  it  —  Rats!  I  do  not  allude  to  Cats  and 
Dogs,  [mewling  and  growling,]  I  do  not, —  I  will  not,  —  I 
dare  not !  But  I  must  speak  the  truth.  The  tightness  of 
the  times,  —  the  numerous  failures  we  mourn,  —  the  unset- 
tled state  of  the  market; — I  might  name  cabbages  and 
turnips ;  —  oh,  fellow-citizens,  it  is  owing  to  Rats  !  " 

"  You  know  I  had  the  honor  to  be  appointed  chairman  of  a 
Committee  to  investigate.  We  are  prepared  to  report.  I 
have  the  schedule  in  my  pocket.  There  are  three  thousand 
tenements,  inclusive  of  stores,  manufactories,  barns,  wharves, 
vessels,  &c. ;  we  estimate  ten  rats  and  mice  to  each  tene- 
ment, making  the  enormous  aggregate  of  thirty  thousand 
of  these  mischievous  non-producers  !  [Hear,  hear.]  Can 
the  expense  of  supporting  them  be  less  than  fifty  cents  per 
head,  annually  ?  Fifteen  thousand  dollars,  then,  is  our 
yearly  rat-tax  !     Consider  some  of  the  items  :  — 

Perforations  of  meal-bags,  doors,  drawers, f  50.00 

Attacks  on  cheeses,  loaves  of  bread,  joints  of  meat,   ....  200.00 

-Eggs  sucked, 40.00 

Corn  and  grain  pillaged, 300.00 

Fruit-trees  annually  girdled, 80.00 

Turnips  and  apples  munched, 35.00 

Nuts  carried  off, 10.00 

The  cost  of  preventives  :  — 

Rat-proof  cases,  tubs,  jars, 250.00 

Cementing  cellars,  and  pointing  walls, 400.00 

Sinks  in  drains, 90.00 

Damage  to  cellars  by  water  coming  in  at  the  holes  they  make,     50.00 

Ratsbane  and  potash, 5.25 

Traps  of  all  sorts, 18.00 

Annual  bill  of  joiners  for  repairs, 325.00 

Board  of  1000  Cats, 2000.00 

At  this  point,  there  was  an  outcry,  soon  hushed,  however, 


168  filCHARD    EDNEY   AND 

by  the  overwhelming  interest  of  the  topic.  The  little  man 
continued,  wiping  his  brow.  "  I  need  not  go  on.  You  see 
the  astounding  disclosures,  and  I  see  your  alarm.  But  we 
approach  the  great  question  :  Is  there  no  remedy  ?  These 
thirty  thousand  rats,  it  is  estimated,  would  support  sixty 
missionaries  to  foreign  lands."  "Cats  is  the  remedy!  "  cried 
a  Dog-hater.  "A  plot,  a  plot  I  "  shouted  an  enemy  of  Cats. 
There  was  a  scuffle  about  the  table. 

"  Gentlemen,  fellow-citizens,  brothers  and  sisters  ! "  Tunny 
began,  again.  "  Let  me  be  heard  !  bear  with  me  one  mo- 
ment !  I  am  magnanimous,  —  I  hate  incendiarism,  and  will 
spit  on  a  traitor  !  There  is  hope !  I  have  allowed  myself 
to  receive  a  consignment  of  rat-traps; — a  new  article, 
cheap  and  safe.  They  will  hold  every  rat  that  gets  into 
them,  and  there  is  a  large  size,  the  A.  A.,  that  will  hold 
more.  A  child  can  manage  them.  Could  not  a  Rat-trap 
Stock  Company  be  fornied  ?  Shall  not  the  Common  Council 
be  petitioned  to  purchase  the  patent  ?  I  propose  this  as  a 
measure  of  conciliation." 

"  I  did  not  agree  to  the  report,"  rejoined  DrafT,  a  rival 
Grocer,  "  and  I  should  oppose  the  plan  of  Tunny's.  The 
fact,  which  all  overlook,  is  here,  just  here,  and  nowhere 
else.  The  more  there  is  eaten,  the  more  there  is  sold ; 
this  is  the  law  of  trade  —  and  it  matters  not  who  eats,  the 
merchant  makes  by  it." 

There  was  a  storm  of  suppressed  sputtering.  But  Munk 
cried,  "  Yes,  all  eat,  all  sell;  I  buy  a  trap,  you  buy  a  trap; 
catch  them  if  you  can.  Domestic  turkeys,  foreign  grapes, 
some  of  Mrs.  Tunny's  nice  custards  ;  nobody  can  beat  Mrs. 
Tunny  in  custards.  Catapulter,  Dogbane,  all  like  good 
things,  —  all  love  to  be  happy."  At  the  same  time,  he  dis- 
tributed the  viands,  and  coaxed  the  belligerents  to  a  softer 
mood. 


THE    governor's    FAMILY.  169 

The  party  broke  up.  Miss  Eyre  contrived,  as  young 
ladies  always  will  contrive  when  they  undertake  it,  that 
Eichard  should  beau  her  home.  But  she  was  considerate  ; 
she  did  not  distress  him.  She  said,  "  You  are  my  friend  ; 
I  retain  you  by  the  strongest  tie,  —  that  of  confidence ;  I 
have  shown  my  estimate  of  your  character,  by  imparting  to 
you  the  profoundest  affairs  of  my  existence.  Good-night." 
15 


CHAPTER    XII. 

RICHARD    AND    CLOVER    VNITE. 

An  Anti-Slavery  meeting  was  gathered  at  the  City  Hall. 
It  comprised  men  and  women  from  Victoria  Square  and 
Knuckle  Lane  ;  from  the  Factories  and  Saw-mills ;  from 
Taverns  and  Alehouses. 

The  lecturer  had  perhaps  more  of  truth  than  love  in  his 
composition  ;  he  was  one  who  would  not  receive  a  cotton 
shirt  from  a  slaveholder,  lest,  like  Edward  the  Confessor, 
when  a  tax  he  had  imposed  was  brought  before  him,  he 
should  see  a  little  devil  jumping  about  it.  He  seemed  to 
feel,  in  regard  to  Slavery,  as  is  related  some  of  the  Puri- 
tans felt  about  Popery,  that  a  thwack  at  it  was  the  best  cure 
for  the  heart-burn.  Possibly,  acting  on  an  old  notion  that 
enchantment  cannot  subsist  in  running  water,  he  thought 
that  the  spell  whereby  that  direful  evil  infatuates  the  pop- 
ular mind  might  be  broken  by  setting  in  motion  the  currents 
of  popular  feeling. 

He  was  earnest  and  vehement ;  quite  Pauline,  quite 
Savonarolian.  His  words  did  not  exemplify  so  much  the 
rain  on  the  new-mown  grass,  as  the  fire  and  the  stubble.  It 
seemed  as  if  he  would  burn  the  grass,  rather  than  be  at  the 
trouble  of  mowing  it. 

The  audience  listened  patiently  a  while ;  many  with  a 
deep  conviction  of  the  justice  of  his  cause,  —  others  over- 
powered by  the  terror  of  his  language.  But  uneasiness 
manifested  itself,  either  from  fright  or  from  offence.  The 
speaker  no  whit  faltered.     He  seemed  like  one  who  was 


BICHARD   EDNEY,  ETC.  171 

used,  as  the  Prophet  says,  to  threshing  the  mountains,  and 
making  them  small  as  the  dust.  And  though  these  moun- 
tains were,  like  Olympus,  covered  with  gods,  it  made  no 
difference;  the  gods  must  come  down.  Presently  there 
was  hissing,  and  scraping,  and  groaning.  Diana  teas  great, 
but  old,  and  gouty  withal,  and  she  could  not  be  ousted 
suddenly. 

He  spoke  of  the  recent  "War,  and  its  connection  with  his 
subject,  and  with  national  affairs  generally.  And  now  the 
gods  rallied,  and  particularly  Clover,  and  his  confreres, 
young  Chassford,  Glendar,  and  others. 

"  That  war,"  he  said,  "  is  the  disgrace  of  the  nation,  and 
the  triumph  of  Slavery.  Both  are  a  curse,  cleaving  like 
leprosy  to  the  comeliness  of  the  Republic  ;  both  are  a  wicked- 
ness of  such  magnitude  that  perdition  is  not  deep  enough 
to  hold  them  !  " 

"  Repeat  those  words  !"  cried  Clover,  springing  from  his 
seat.  The  speaker  repeated  them  in  such  a  way  there 
could  be  no  possibility  of  misapprehending  them. 

"Drag  him  from  the  desk!"  "Pitch  him  from  the 
window  I "  rang  from  different  parts.  Timorousness  took 
the  alarm,  and  some  would  have  left  the  house.  Dr. 
Broadwell  arose  and  said,  "  Be  quiet,  friends  ;  if  the  lectur- 
er's truth  does  not  hurt  us,  his  rhetoric  surely  will  not. 
There  is  no  danger." 

Clover,  with  two  or  three  others,  leaped  forward  to  the 
platform  on  which  the  lecturer  stood.  "I  wish  to  speak,  " 
he  said.  "  Certainly,"  replied  the  other.  "  This  fellow," 
so  Clover  harangued,  "assaults  the  nation  —  he  assaults  the 
people  !  He  mocks  at  our  institutions  —  he  scofTs  at  our  gov- 
ernment !  He  would  wrench  the  flag  from  the  mizzen-peak 
of  our  glory  !  he  would  break  the  band-chain  of  our  destiny  ! 
Might  is   right;   Might  rules;   Might  gives  law;   Might 


J  7>i  i;i>'U\U»'    Kl>MV     ANP 

UKnv  up  \\\o  Tovt  of  Moullm* ;  M\}^\\{  thrn^lx'tl  th^  Chinono; 
,Mi>jl\t  bumovl  l.it(li>  IUmvIhv  ;  Mi><l»(  n\|>(ur.nl  (Wrolu; 
Might  puuisho^l  Svillivan  !  («i\>a(  is  MiKl>(  '  Who  will  |oii\ 
\i\  (hut  .xhvmt  f     Who  will  ohoov  Mij>ht  ^  " 

Tho  iV!<po»»iO  ^v^^^  vooil'oivuft,  hut  s|>iU'm\  Thriv  oovtM 
\»ot  lu\\t>  hoou  ntoiv  thun  t\  doaou  iudivulurtis,  o\it  of  thivo 
luuvvhvvl,  ougixjjvil  in  it.  Vot  it  so\unUnl  hw^v,  «n*l  .MMMurd 
(v>  till  tho  houso;  luwl  hs  with  ^toutor  hin^s  tho  NoutimtMit 
\v!\N  »v|Vi\(vHl.  *'l}»v«t  isMijiht!"  (hoiv  woiv  thoKO  who 
thought  it  p»vv!\iU^l.  Soiuo  wotvU  and  norvovts  onos  yioKhvl 
{o  it,  juul  loll  in  with  it ;  vMMUo  wh\>  wvt^'  op|H»soil  t«»  it,  n»l- 
jvulging  it  to  Iv  tho  sovoivign  voiv^o,  woi\'  dispvisod  to  t\c^\\\'\- 
Ov«vH^  in  it;  t\nvl  it'  rt  voto  \uu\  Uvn  taUon  on  tho  instant,  it 
wouKl  jm»lv\My  hiwv  oaniovl  tho  hi>uso. 

"I  question  t)u»  »vsiH>nso :  I  ivpiulu<(t>  tho  s(-ntin)ont  I  " 
kViOil  tlvo  Uvtvuvv. 

"  \V\>o  l>o  unto  you  I  "  tvs\H>niloil  Clovov.  "  Might  risos ; 
Might  blots  vmt  its  ouomios;  Might  cvushos  you  !  "  Ho 
laid  his  arm  lunwily  on  tho  shouUlor  of  tho  spoaKor,  as  if 
ho  oxiHVtxnl  to  soo  hin\  vanish  thn»ugh  tho  \\oo\\ 

Instantly  thtnv  wus  a  IvUowitig  (ixmu  all  sidos,  "  Do  l\in\, 
I'lovor!"  "  IVvour  hin\ ! "  •>  Tako  hin\  up  with  a  jvur  of 
(v>ugTS !  " 

Mt\u\\vlulo.  Ku'hai\l,  Ivu'kod  by  son\o  frionds,  juovnitod 
tho  dais,  attd  wUilo  CK>\vr  W5\s  adjusting  hin\solf  to  tho 
undortaViug  of  dt^jvttohing  tho  Kvtuivr  at  a  single  swixllow, 
ho  swung  his  cap,  and  shoutod,  "Utxnit  is  Truth  !  "  and  his 
vxMumdv^s  vibmtwl  tho  ory  :  and  by  doop,  p\ihnonary  thnn- 
dors.  it  mlUnl  thrvnigh  tho  Hall ;  and  tho  Might-u>ioos,  Ih>- 
luannl  by  tho  'IVuth-vv^iot^,  tU\l  svMwohing  away. 

Uut  CKwvr.  not  a  littlo  inoousvHl,  darting  his  skinny  oyo 
.\t  Kicharvl,  said,  "  Who  arv  you,  that  dar\^s  orwss  tho  jvitli 
of  Mig^\t  ?     Who  art^  y\ni  that  prx^umos  to  lilt  your  pvun 


m 


^Hm 


*T'W.aBe*i»a6«r'«-wi«3^!'  proewfed CS»9«t;  *y««»aK 


ki/i'Tr  ~-^.'  -hiK  M  zimadr,  yvi  tost 


sna.  swiiena:  -as 


174  RICHARD    EDNEY,    ETC. 

liim  from  his  feet,  and  swinging  him  lightly,  very  lightly,  in 
his  arms,  laid  him  backwards  on  the  floor,  and  bade  the 
lecturer  proceed.  Clover  did  not  wince  nor  stir.  The 
audience,  who  had  risen  in  expectation  and  alarm,  resumed 
their  seats.  Without  further  disturbance,  the  lecture  was 
finished,  and  the  people  dismissed. 

Richard  and  Clover  left  the  Hall  together.  Eichard 
drew  Clover's  arm  into  his,  and  they  went  towards  their 
homes,  both  of  which  lay  in  the  Beauty  of  Woodylin.  Few 
words  were  interchanged.  Only  we  can  affirm  that  Clover 
went  to  bed  that  night  soberly,  —  quite  soberly. 


CHAPTER  XIII. 

RICHARD   EXHORTS    AT    A    RELIGIOUS   MEETING. 

One  Sunday  evening,  Richard  went,  with  Aunt  Grint 
and  his  sister,  to  Elder  Jabson's  meeting,  in  a  neighboring 
School-house. 

A  hymn  was  given  out,  the  first  stanza  of  which  is  as 
follows : 

"  Am  I  a  soldier  of  the  Cross, 
A  follower  of  the  Lamb, 
And  shall  I  fear  to  own  his  cause, 
Or  blush  to  speak  his  name  ?  " 

The  chorister  was  gone,  but  Richard,  knowing  the  tune, 
and  loving  the  words,  led  off;  and  he  threw  such  life  and 
unction  into  the  singing  as  never  was  seen  before.  It  was  as 
if  tutti  had  been  written  on  his  understanding  and  his  spirit, 
his  lips  and  his  eyes;  and  his  throat  was  equal  to  any  tuba 
mirabilis  that  was  ever  invented. 

A  brother  spoke  in  this  wise  : 

"  I  feel  to  bless  God  that  I  am  here.  I  think  I  have  known 
the  Saviour;  I  was  brought  to  see  my  wretched  and  lost 
condition,  it  is  now  twelve  years  gone  ;  it  was  in  just  such  a 
meeting  as  this  I  closed  with  the  offers  of  mercy,  and  light 
fell  on  my  mind.  But  I  have  backslidden  since  ;  gay  com- 
panions and  vain  amusements  drew  off  my  attention  ;  I  know 
I  have  not  borne  the  cross  as  I  should  do  ;  I  ask  your  prayers. 
At  the  last  Reformation,  I  was  enabled  to  come  out  froni 
the  world,  and  set  my  face  toward  Zion  anew.  You  know, 
brethren,  how  it  has  gone  with  me  since ;  the  business  of 
this  world  got  the  upper  hands,  and  speretual  realities  were 


176        ^  RICHARD   EDNEY   AND 

shoved  one  side.  I  feel  to  be  thankful  that  my  life  is  spared ; 
and  I  think  I  can  say  I  rejoice  in  this  evening." 

Richard,  thereupon,  spoke,  and  said  :  — 

"  We  will  pray  for  our  brother ;  we  will  help  him  to  a 
confirmation  of  his  wishes,  and  a  renewal  of  his  assurance. 
But,  my  friends,  is  there  not  a  radical  defect  here  ?  Are 
we  building  on  the  Rock  of  Ages?  Is  it  possible  that  the 
ordinary  winds  and  floods  of  life  could  so  easily  subvert  our 
foundations  ?  Our  temptations  and  besetments,  our  hin- 
drances and  cares,  are  as  nothing  compared  with  those  to 
which  the  primitive  disciples  were  subject;  yet  they  endured 
unto  the  end.  If  one  has  pure  and  deep  love  to  God  and 
to  man  in  his  heart,  I  should  urge  that  he  cannot  lose 
it.  What  is  the  world  but  a  grand  theatre  for  Christian 
usefulness;  and  how  can  contact  with  the  world  deteriorate 
our  virtue,  or  diminish  our  zeal  ?  If  Christ  be  truly  in  us, 
he  is  a  well  of  water,  springing  up  unto  everlasting  life ;  a 
source  of  spiritual  vitality,  that  can  neither  intermit  nor 
be  exhausted.  Are  we  not  depending  too  much  on  mere 
impulse  and  gladness,  without  grappling  with  the  cardinal 
principles-  of  Christianity,  and  planting  them  low  iri  our 
natures,  and  working  them  into  the  franie-work  of  our 
characters  ?  Are  the  laws  of  the  religious  life  more  variable 
than  those  which  regulate  every  other  human  concern  ?  A 
peace-man  does  not  lose  his  interest  in  peace,  nor  does  an 
anti-slavery-man  backslide  from  abolition ;  a  lawyer  perse- 
veres in  attachment  to  his  profession  ;  and  what  mother 
present  grows  lukewarm  towards  her  children  ? 

"  Are  we  careful  of  our  bodies,  even  ?  Do  we  make  them 
fitting  t&mples  for  so  glorious  a  guest  as  the  Holy  Ghost  ? 
When  we  approach  the  throne,  do  we  come  not  only  with 
hearts  sprinkled  from  an  evil  conscience,  but  also,  as  the 
Apostle  directs,  ivith  bodies  icashed  ivith  pure  ivater  ? 


THE    governor's    FAMILY.  177 

"  Our  brother  has  spoken  of  amusements.  Eecreation,  in 
the  present  state  of  being,  is  needful  as  food  and  clothing. 
If  we  enter  upon  sportive  scenes  with  right  feelings,  —  if  we 
pursue  what  is  innocent  and  joyous  in  the  spirit  of  inno- 
ccncy  and  joyousness,  —  if  we  derive  what  advantage  is 
afibrded  by  a  free  and  unreserved  intercourse  with  our  fel- 
lows, we  shall  be  better  prepared  for  the  graver  duties  and 
severer  events  of  life." 

The  Elder  here  reminded  Eichard  that  this  was  a  relig- 
ious meeting,  and  that  he  should  not  digress  into  other 
topics. 

Richard  replied,  that  it  was  only  of  what  had  a  supreme 
religious  bearing  that  he  wished  to  speak,  and  continued : — 

"  The  trouble  seems  to  be  that  we  get  religious  feeling 
without  acquiring  evangelical  principle.  We  amass  the 
hay,  wood  and  stubble,  of  momentary  enthusiasm,  and  have 
not  the  true  life  of  God  in  the  soul.  We  look  for  sudden 
changes,  and  have  no  maturity  of  growth.  The  dew  of  an 
evening  meeting  is  speedily  exhaled,  —  the  sun  of  gospel 
love  mounts  to  the  perfection  of  the  day.  We  cry,  lo  here  ! 
and  lo  there  !  lo  this  meeting  !  and  lo  that  church  !  while  the 
infinite  gifts  of  Providence  and  of  the  ages,  of  nature  and  of 
grace,  are  ever  offered  to  our  hands,  ever  pouring  into  our 
hearts  ! 

"  Our  religion  is  like  a  saw  I  have  seen,  which  was  respect- 
able on  bass-wood,  but  birch  or  a  knotty  hemlock  discovered 
its  weak  points,  and  condemned  its  brittleness.  It  is  a  glow- 
worm religion,  that  fails  by  day-light,  and  disappears  in 
the  glare  of  occupation.  It  is  a  parlor  religion,  that  shifts 
its  dress  and  loses  its  temper  when  it  goes  into  the  kitchen. 
The  pursuit  of  salvation  in  the  midst  of  excitement  is  like 
gunning  in  a  strong  wind  ;  you  cannot  distinguish  your 
game,  nor  steady  your  sight.     Why  hurry  your  converts 


178  EICHARD   EDNEY    AND 

into  the  water,  plunging  them  through  the  ice  in  mid- 
AA'inter  ?  —  true  spirituality,  like  the  witch-hazel,  having  blos- 
somed in  the  fall,  will  bear  its  fruit  the  next  summer.  We 
need  a  piety  like  the  plantain,  which  will  flourish  even 
under  the  feet  of  mankind ;  and  like  the  sandal-wood,  that 
bestows  its  sweetness  on  those  who  bruise  it  most  hardl)?-. 
Trees  flourish  where  corn  dwindles  ;  —  you  ought  not  to  ex- 
pect the  same  description  of  holiness  under  all  circumstances, 
nor  refuse  a  fruit  of  the  spirit  because  it  does  not  happen  to 
be  your  favorite  crop. 

"  I  am  very  frank  with  you,  my  brethren  and  sisters ;  I 
love  you  all,  —  I  desire  that  we  may  each  attain  to  the 
stature  of  perfect  ones  in  Jesus.  You  invited  me  to  speak; 
I  thank  you  for  the  opportunity.    May  God  bless  us  all ! " 

After  the  meeting,  several  of  the  people  spoke  with  Rich- 
ard. One  said  he  had  hit  the  nail  on  the  head;  another, 
that  he  had  driven  it  home ;  a  third  thought  he  had  clenched 
it ;  a  fourth  hoped  he  would  bring  some  more  nails. 

Returning,  Aunt  Grint  said,  "  Well,  I  do  believe  some- 
thing is  going  to  happen." 

"  Why  ?  "  asked  Roxy. 

"Our  Richard,"  replied  Aunt  Grint,  "has  really  got 
waked  up." 

"  I  am  usually  awake  at  proper  times,"  observed  Richard ; 
"and  I  sleep  my  eight  hours  every  day.  But  my  soul 
never  sleeps." 

"  You  do  not  know,  for  all  the  world,"  rejoined  the  Aunt, 
"  what  feeble  and  uncertain  creeturs  we  are ;  you  have  no 
experience  of  the  dreadful  natur  of  man.  I  wish  I  could 
feel  as  you  do,  but  I  can't.  Nothing  but  sovreign  grace 
will  ever  save  7?2e.  Why,  a  salt-cellar  will  upset  me;  and 
there  is  spots  on  the  finger-nails  that  make  a  body  so  dis- 


THE   governor's    FAMILY,  179 

mal ;  and  when  a  dog  howls  in  the  night,  I  have  n't  the  least 
mite  of  faith  that  ever  was." 

"  Your  Bible,"  answered  Richard,  "  would  correct  these 
superstitious  fears,  and  lead  you  to  a  constant,  unfaltering, 
filial  faith  in  God." 

"Ah's  me! "  added  the  Aunt;  "I  sometimes  am  afraid  to 
open  my  Bible,  for  who  knows  on  what  verse  I  may  pitch  ?  " 


CHAPTER     XIV. 

RICHARD    CALLED    TO    NURSE    A    SICK   JLAN. 

This  was  Bill  Stonners,  a  man  belonging  to  one  of  the 
other  saws.  He  was  a  person  of  rude  manners,  intemper- 
ate habits,  and  solitary  life.  He  practised  log-booming  in 
summer,  and  sawing  in  winter.  Richard  knew  but  little  of 
huTi.  His  disease  was  malignant  erysipelas,  a  fearful  form 
of  St.  Anthony's  fire.  Sj-mptoms  of  this  malady  had  ap- 
peared in  different  parts  of  the  cit)',  and  an  impression  pre- 
vailed that  it  was  infectious.  Moreover,  this  case  of  Bill 
Stonners'  was  represented  as  the  most  shocking  imaginable ; 
and  many  who  would  not  hesitate  at  a  common  instance 
were  intimidated  by  this.  Bill  had  no  family,  and  what  was 
worse,  he  had  no  friends ;  none  were  moved  by  affection  or 
love  to  look  after  him,  and  so  deplorable  was  his  condition, 
that  even  the  sense  of  duty  in  the  strongest  minds  was 
overborne.  His  home  was  a  miserable  hut  on  the  bank  of 
the  stream,  within  the  woods,  about  half  a  mile  above  the 
Dam.  It  had  no  comforts ;  none  for  the  sick  man,  nonefor 
his  attendants,  none  even  which  the  most  indulgent  benev- 
olence could  find  any  satisfaction  in  applying  in  such  an 
emergenc}'-. 

It  maj'  be  that  corporations  have  no  souls ;  but  the  city 
tindertook  what  individual  charity  shrank  from.  It  provided 
a  physician,  medicine,  emollients,  and  went  in  pursuit  of 
a  nurse.  The  Overseer  of  the  Poor  came  to  the  Mill  on 
this  errand.  He  encountered  great  reluctance  ;  —  some  had 
watched  with  Bill,  and  were  rightly  excused.    He  addressed 


KICHARD    EDNEY,    ETC.  181 

Richard.  But  Captain  Creamer  interfered ;  he  thought  it 
was  flinging  away  a  valuable  life  on  a  worthless  one.  Mr. 
Gouch  opposed  even  his  tears  to  the  idea,  and  said,  with 
extreme  emotion,  that  he  should  never  see  Richard  again. 
Silver,  who  had  become  strongly  attached  to  Richard, 
planted  a  picaroon  in  his  collar,  and  declared  he  should 
not  go. 

But  somebody  must  go;  and  the  city  would  remunerate 
Captain  Creamer  for  the  loss  of  Richard's  time,  and  also 
give  Richard  such  compensation  as  was  just. 

So  Richard  went.  "  O  God,"  he  said,  "  spare  my  life, 
if  it  pleases  thee;  but  if  thou  takest  it,  let  it  be  in  the 
service  of  my  fellow-men  ! " 

He  reached  what,  under  the  circumstances,  was  a  dreary 
place,  and  one  sufficiently  revolting.  The  house,  a  rude 
shantee,  was  perched  on  a  rock,  overlooking  the  frozen 
stream  below.  It  might  have  been  deemed  a  picturesque 
spot,  but  only  so  to  life  and  health.  It  was  dismal  to  soli- 
tude, and  sickness,  and  death.  The  roof  covered  two 
apartments,  in  one  of  which  lay  the  sick  man ;  the  other 
was  the  repository  of  his  stuff  and  tools,  comprising  spike- 
poles,  raft-pins,  raft-rigging,  augers,  a  draw-shave,  etc.  But 
the  sick  man,  —  we  shall  not  describe  him.  He  was  past 
consciousness  when  Richard  arrived  ;  his  head  was  swollen 
to  a  preternatural  size  ;  his  features  had  all  disappeared,  and 
were  submerged  in  a  chaos  of  whatever  is  most  shocking  in 
the  ravages  or  the  deformities  of  disease.  Bill  was  intem- 
perate,—  he  had  been  irregular  every  way ;  and  his  blood 
was  corrupt,  and  vicious  humors  in  incredible  quantity,  and 
with  frightful  swiftness,  determined  to  his  head. 

Nor  need  we  describe  the  room  where  such  a  man,  with- 
out culture,  without  piety,  without  a  friend,  had  lived.  We 
have  said  he  lived  alone ;  —  this  is  not  quite  true.  There 
16 


182  RICHARD    EDNEY   AND 

was  frequently  with  him  one  who  was  called  Bill's  Boy; 
the  soubriquet  of  this  creature  was  Chuk.  Eichard  found 
this  fellow  sitting  on  a  block  before  the  fire,  nursing  his  ears 
with  his  fists.  He  did  not  rise  when  Eichard  entered,  —  he  did 
not  speak ;  he  only  gave  a  sort  of  hunch  with  his  head. 
His  dark  visage  —  dark  with  hair,  and  beard,  and  grime 
—  was  freaked  by  that  dull  redness  which  intemperance  and 
exposure  impart;  and  intermixed  with  this  were  traces  of 
a  huffy  despair,  —  a  state  to  which  we  might  suppose  a  hu- 
man heart,  uninfluenced  by  refined  affection,  unenlightened 
by  religious  truth,  would  arrive.  One  might  fancy  that 
Chuk  had  tended  upon  Bill,  —  that  he  had  set  up  with 
him  all  night,  and  had  ministered  to  him  there  in  the  day ; 
that  he  had  done  this  all  alone ;  that  he  had  continued  to 
do  it  till  hope  had  fled,  and  his  strength  was  gone, — and 
out  of  sorts  with  himself  and  with  all  things,  now  surlily 
grinning  at  and  daring  the  issue,  had  gone  to  brooding  over 
the  fire  ;    and  such  a  fancy  would  not  be  far  out  of  the  way. 

Did  he  not  speak  ?  He  did  not  employ  much  of  what  is 
understood  to  be  human  speech  ;  —  he  swore.  His  every 
word  seemed  to  be  an  oath  ;  his  sentences  began  and  ended 
and  were  sealed  with  oaths.  He  could  only  converse  in 
oaths.  And  he  swore  at  Eichard  in  the  first  reply  he  made 
to  him,  when  he  asked  what  he  should  do ;  and  he  damned 
Bill,  soul  and  body,  to  hell ;  yet,  if  we  shall  be  permitted 
to  say  so,  he  loved  Bill. 

What  should  Eichard  do  ?  There  was  little  else  to  be 
done,  except  to  foment  the  blasted,  bloated  face  of  the  pa- 
tient with  alcohol.  Eichard  thought  cold  water  would  be  a 
better  lotion,  and  said  as  much  to  Chuk ;  who,  having  first 
sent  Eichard  to  eternal  perdition  for  intimating  anything  of 
the  sort,  took  a  pail,  and  descending  to  a  hole  in  the  ice, 
filled  it,  and  brought  it  to  Eichard. 


THE    governor's    FAMILY.  1S3 

The  Physician,  Dr.  Chassford,  called.  He  was  a  quiet 
man,  of  few  words,  but  gifted  with  pleasant  manners, 
great  professional  fidelitj',  and  much  flavor  of  gentle  feel- 
ings. His  replies  extinguished  expectation,  and  provided  for 
a  speedy  termination  of  the  sickness  ;  Bill  could  not  live 
twenty-four  hours  longer.  Chuk  did  not  swear  at  the  Doc- 
tor ,'  he  bit  at  him,  he  touseled  him,  he  burnt  him  alive  with 
oaths. 

The  Overseer  brought  candles,  food,  and  such  things  as 
the  living  might  require,  but  which  could  have  no  pertinence 
to  the  dying. 

Chuk  laid  a  large  heap  of  drift-wood  on  the  hearth,  and 
then  bestowed  his  wonted  blessing  on  what  he  had  done. 
Richard  ventured  to  expostulate  with  him ;  but  it  was  like 
spitting  against  the  wind,  —  rather  like  raising  sail  in  a 
hurricane. 

Having  drained  a  flask  of  liquor,  the  Boy  doubled  himself 
into  a  coarse  blanket  on  the  floor,  and  went  to  sleep. 

Richard  was  left  alone  with  that  sick  man,  and  that  Boy, 
in  that  room,  for  the  night.  He  needed  no  candle,  for  the 
resinous  stuff  that  Chuk  provided  emitted  an  illumination 
quite  sufficient.  The  sick  man  breathed  hard  and  hoarsely; 
but  he  made  no  motion  as  if  he  were  in  pain.  He  could 
not  speak,  nor  hear,  nor  understand.  Richard's  employ- 
ment was  wringing  out  the  rags  afresh  in  the  water,  when- 
ever they  became  hot ;  and  this  was  very  often.  He  could 
hardly  pray  for  mercy  on  the  soul  before  him,  —  he  could 
commend  that  soul  to  the  Infinite  Mercy. 

If  there  was  anything  to  qualify  the  gloom  of  the  hours, 
it  was  the  roaring  of  the  Dam.  All  the  winds  played  on  it, 
and  it  took  advantage  of  all  the  winds  to  exhibit  its  peculiar 
powers.  The  sound  rose  and  fell,  —  it  was  plaintive  and  it 
was  harsh ;    it  died  away  in  the  distance,  and  directly  it 


184  RICHARD    EDNEY    AND 

reappeared  under  the  windorvs  of  the  house,  and  filled  the 
adjacent  high-ernbanked  stream  with  its  tempestuous  clamor. 
Anon,  as  it  were  breaking  away  from  its  proper  source,  the 
fall  of  the  water,  it  leaped  into  the  woods,  —  it  fled  through 
the  forest  like  a  detached  volume  of  smoke;  it  whispered; 
miniardly  to  the  hills,  —  it  howled,  goblin-like,  in  the  gul- 
lies ;  it  trapsed  out  of  hearing,  to  strike  up  some  new  and 
strange  vagar}',  in  an  unexpected  quarter  of  the  heavens. 

It  was  now  the  beginning  of  spring,  and  the  crows^ 
attempted  the  poetic  office  of  heralding  the  dawn ;  and 
from  many  a  tall  pine,  and  many  a  bleak  rock  —  and  occa- 
sionally facilitating  the  matter  by  a  short  bout  on  the  wingi 
—  they  shrieked  the  pleasant  news. 

Their  noise  awakened  Chuk,  who,  with  such  utensils  and 
in  such  way  as  he  was  accustomed  to,  went  about  getting 
hreakfast. 

The  eastern  sky  was  bland,  prismatic,  reviving;  and  the 
sun  came  into  the  rooni  with  warmth  and  peace,  if  not 
healing,  in  its  beams,  and  Richard  was  tempted  to  the 
window, 

"  Don't  look  out  there  !  "  said  Chuk  ;  "  that  is  Bill's  win- 
dow; eat,  if  you  want  to,  and  go  to  the  dogs,  but  don't  sil 
there!  The  city  gives  the  vittles,  —  it  didn't  give  that! 
Don't  you  see  Bill's  boom,  just  Ixilow,  norward  of  the  Pint ! 
No,  —  he  can't  see  it,  and  you  shan't!  " 

Richard  drew  up  to  the  rude  table,  Chuk  poured  out 
the  coffee,  and  handed  him  the  sugar  and  milk;  and  while 
Richard  was  eating,  the  boy  tended  his  master,  and  chow* 
tcred  about  the  room, 

"  There  is  not  a  boom  on  the  river  like  that,"  he  said 
"  and  there  '11  never  be  another ;  for  Bill  will  be  dead,  anc 
in  the  lake,  where  no  tirnlxir  grows.  In  three  weeks  the  ic< 
will  be  out,  and  the  logs  will  run ;   and  they  will  all  curst 


THE    GOVERNOU'S    FAMILY.  185 

Bill,  as  they  go  by,  for  not  catching  them.  He  knew  the 
marks  as  far  as  he  could  see  them ;  and  he  never  beckoned 
with  his  picaroon  at  a  stick,  though  it  was  big  as  thunder, 
that  it  did  not  mind  him  and  come  in.  None  could  manage 
a  rip  as  he  could  ;  and  the  logs  were  proud  of  him,  —  wan't 
they,  though?  and  they  would  n't  quit  him,  though  every 
infernal  rock  in  the  River  was  tearing  at  their  bellies  !  He 
ought  not  to  die ;  he  is  an  old  fool  to  die,  after  such  a  win- 
ter as  this,  when  there  has  been  such  a  cramming  of  the 
Lake,  and  such  jobs  are  laid  out  for  us  !  " 

All  at  once  the  Boy  seemed  to  soften ;  he  changed  his 
tone,  and  leaning  over  the  bed,  he  said,  "  Did  you  speak, 
Bill?  It'sChuk, — Chuk  is  here.  For  God's  sake,  don't 
die,  Bill !  Shan't  I  caulk  the  boat?  Shan't  1  overhaul  the 
Tigging?  Swear  at  me.  Bill !  knock  me  down  !  once,  only 
once,  before  you  can't !  " 

Richard  had  been  to  the  Lakes;  he  had  hauled  limber  to 
the  head-waters  of  the  stream ;  he  had  once,  in  a  stress, 
helped  "  drive  the  River,"  as  the  idioni  is,  atid  knew  about 
the  catching  of  logs  in  booms ;  and  he  understood  a  little 
of  the  Boy's  feelings,  and  truly  commiserated  him,  and  tried 
to  cheer  his  heart.  But  Chuk  would  listen  to  nothing,  — 
he  would  be  persuaded  by  nothing. 

A  low  tapping  was  hoard  at  the  door.  "  That  's  Mysie," 
said  Chuk.  "  Plagues  light  on  her  old  pate  I  why  does 
she  come  asking  after  Bill  ?  She  knows  he  aa't  any  better ; 
she  knows  he  never  will  be  !  " 

Mysie  entered  the  room  ;  and  as  Chuk  did  not  tell  Richard 
about  her,  and  as  Richard,  when  he  afterwards  knew  her, 
was  interested  in  her,  we  will  venture  a  word  or  two  for  her. 

She  was  called  Mysie ;  but  Mysie  what,  or  what  Mysie, 
nobody  knew.  She  was  quite  old ;  she  might  have  been 
near  the  allotted  period  of  human  life.  She  was  wrinkled, 
16* 


186  RICHARD    EDNEY   AND 

even  beyond  the  extremest  age ;  yet  her  face  had  a  fresh 
and  vigorous  look,  and  her  wrinkles  did  not  seem  to  be  so 
much  a  symptom  of  natural  waste  as  a  part  of  her  constitu- 
tion. She  was  tall,  straight,  and  bony,  yet  she  had  nothing 
of  the  Meg  Merrilies  stamp,  nor  of  any  other  but  her  own. 
Her  costume  was  shabby  and  neglected.  She  wore  an  old 
and  dirty  straw  bonnet,  with  an  immense  rim,  and  a  green 
plaid  cloak,  of  a  kind  that  was  common  twenty  years  before ; 
and  she  towed  herself  through  the  mud  and  splosh  in  a  huge 
flaring  pair  of  India-rubbers,  like  a  small  boat.  She  was 
not  stern,  or  sharp,  or  prying,  or  malevolent ;  her  reigning 
expression  was  that  of  quiet  good-nature,  and  innocent  self- 
complacency. 

Mysie,  too,  like  those  upon  whom  she  called,  lived  alone. 
She  occupied  the  spare  end  of  a  tumble-down  house,  not  far 
from  the  Point.  Nor  was  she  wholly  alone  ;  she  kept  cows 
and  cats;  having  five  or  six  of  the  former,  and  a  dozen  of 
the  latter.  In  the  summer  it  was  her  vocation  to  wait  on 
the^e  cows ;  and  having  no  regular  pasture-ground,  she 
drove  them  into  the  woods,  and  led  them  by  the  road-side, 
•wherever  she  could  find  grass.  The  cats  constituted  her 
immediate  domestic  circle. 

Mysie  was  never  at  church.  She  never  entered  a  house, 
she  was  never  known  to  change  her  dress  ;  she  claimed 
no  relatives.  She  sometimes  went  into  the  city  to  sell 
butter. 

She  was  never  sick,  and  though  always  exposed,  she  was 
never  injured.  She  would  be  out  all  day  in  the  rain,  tend- 
ing her  cows,  but  she  took  no  cold ;  she  frequented  the 
loneliest  woods,  and  sauntered  in  the  most  out-of-the-way 
fields  and  lanes  ;  —  she  was  not  afraid. 

She  had  led  such  a  life  forty  years,  as  she  was  wont  to 
say,  and  was  never  hurt  yet. 


THE   governor's   FAMILY.  187 

The  children  saw  her  as  a  grotesque,  bug-bearish,  sprawl- 
ing-looking woman ;  a  kind  of  ogress,  emerging  from  the 
depths  of  the  forest,  or  traversing,  with  an  idle,  vacant  step, 
the  sludgy  swales  and  courses  of  the  brooks,  and  were 
afraid  of  her;  yet,  when  they  came  near  enough  for  her  to 
speak  to  them,  so  pleasant  was  her  smile,  so  soft  her  voice, 
she  easily  composed  them,  and  sometimes  made  them  love 
her. 

She  had  a  fondness  for  trees  and  wild-flowers,  and  some 
taste  for  natural  beauty ;  and  she  did  all  her  worship  beneath 
the  sun  and  the  open  sky,  which  she  used  to  say  was  as 
good  as  a  Meeting-house. 

In  a  cold  and  dry  winter,  springs  of  water  fail,  and  the 
domestic  supply  of  that  essential  aliment  of  life  is  cut  ofF; 
aqueducts  freeze,  and  brooks  and  wells  give  out.  This  mis- 
fortune befell  Mysie,  and  she  was  obliged  to  take  her  cows 
to  the  Eiver  to  drink. 

For  such  a  purpose  had  she  come  down  this  morning,  and 
for  such  a  purpose  had  she  come  a  good  many  mornings,  by 
Bill's. 

We  have  said  she  had  no  relatives.  Nobody  knew  that 
she  had  any ;  there  were  not  five  persons,  out  of  eighteen 
thousand  in  the  city,  to  whom  she  appeared  otherwise  than 
of  Melchisidechian  origin,  without  father  or  mother.  She 
seemed  like  a  rural  anchorite,  a  social  fungus,  a  tame 
female  Orson.  Yet  it  was  sometimes  said,  —  not  that  there 
was  any  reason  for  saying  it,  or  any  malice  in  saying  it,  but 
merely  because  something  must  be  said  —  a  sort  of  buzzing 
conjecture,  that  a  man  must  lift  his  hand  and  brush  away, 
—  that  Bill  was  her  son,  and  that  Chuk  was  Bill's  son;  but 
of  this  nobody  knew,  and  nobodywill  know. 

Chuk  swore  at  JMysie  when  she  entered,  and  branded 
her  with  many  abominable  names ;  but  she  did  not  mind  it, 


188  RICHARD    EDNEV    AND 

and  it  neither  quickened  nor  slackened  her  wonted  heavy, 
slow-forward  gait,  nor  did  it  disturb  the  placid  folds  of  her 
wrinkles. 

She  brought  a  mug  of  milk,  which  Chuk,  of  course, 
damned  when  he  took  and  emptied;  and  she  poured  from 
her  apron  a  quantity  of  poppy-seeds,  which,  she  said,  were 
for  poultices.  She  turned  from  the  bedside,  and,  as  if  it 
were  a  foregone  conclusion,  said,  "He  is  past  being  better; 
he  is  gone  too  far  for  that !  He  would  like  to  have  seen  the 
red  heifer  when  she  changed  her  coat;  but  he '11  not  care  ; 
and  there  are  not  many  to  care.  Everything  is  best  when 
it  is  ended.  This  going  on  so  without  stopping  is  the  only 
thing  to  care  about." 

Mysie  took  her  mug,  and  was  going,  when  Chuk  caught 
at  her  cloak,  as  if  he  would  rend  it  from  her  shoulders. 
"  Don't  pull  so,"  she  said,  very  gently.  "  Mother ! "  he 
cried ;  he  did  not  cry  it  at  once,  or  as  if  he  was  used  to  cry- 
ing it.  He  strangled  with  it ;  he  wharled  it  out ;  he  yelped 
it,  as  we  might  suppose  a  wolf  to  do  in  some  attempt  at 
filial  ogganition.  "I  wouldn't  call  for  mothers,"  replied 
Mysie ;  "  there  an't  any  mothers  now,  and  no  children. 
We  are  alone.  There  is  Line-back,  that  had  as  pretty  calf 
as  ever  you  see  — " 

"  Give  me  something  !  "  replied  the  Boy.  "  He  is  gone, 
and  the  business  is  gone,  and  all  is  gone.  Who  was  a 
child?  Who  got  into  somebody's  lap  ?  Who  kissed  him  ? 
Did  n't  she  die  ?  Did  n't  they  put  her  in  a  grave  ?  Where 
is  that  ?  who  is  that  ?  Don't  tell  me  nobody  cares !  don't 
call  me  Chuk!  Hadn't  he  another  name?  Did  she 
swear  ?  " 

"  I  would  n't  speak  so,  if  I  was  you,"  replied  Mysie.  "  It 
is  a  big  world  we  live  in,  and  God  Almighty  hasn't  made 
us  for  nothing,  I  guess." 


THE    governor's    FAMILY.  189 

Hadn't  the  creature  any  emotion  ?  She  didn't  express 
any.  She  was  inflexibly  bland.  Had  she  no  hopes,  no 
regrets,  no  memories,  no  sympathies?  She  called  after 
her  cows,  - —  each  of  whom  had  a  name,  and  knew  her 
name,  —  who,  having  come  up  from  the  w'ater,  were  nuz- 
zling amid  the  seared  herbage  that  appeared  about  the  door- 
way. 

Three  ladies  approached  the  house,  who  addressed  Mysie 
with  a  friendly  freedom.,  as  if  she  were  an  old  acquaintance. 
These  ladies  were  Ada  Broadwell,  Barbara  Dennington, 
and  Mrs.  Judge  Burp.  When  the  Boy  saw  them,  he 
retreated  from  the  door,  blaspheming  like  the  screech  of  a 
steam -whistle.  "More  to  kill  Bill,"  he  said  ;  "  more  to  tell 
me  he  can't  live  ;  more  stufT  to  help  him  die  !  " 

Richard  went  to  the  door  to  answer  the  inquiries  of  the 
ladies.  He  thought  Barbara  was  Melicent,  and  spoke  to 
her  as  a  friend,  and  extended  his  hand  to  her ;  but  she  did 
not  know  him,  and  her  manner  showed  that  she  did  not. 
But  Ada  knew  them  both,  and  set  them  to  rights  with  each 
other.  Barbara  said  she  had  heard  of  Mr.  Edney,  and  was 
glad  to  see  him ;  and  Mrs.  Judge  Burp,  or  the  Lady 
Caroline,  as  she  was  generally  called,  said  the  same.  The 
Lady  Caroline  was  very  glad  he  had  come  to  Bill  Stonners'. 
"  Poor  wretch  !  "  she  said ;  "  he  is  rejected  by  all ;  and,  what 
is  W'Orse,  he  rejected  himself.  He  has  no  friends  abroad, 
and  none  in  his  own  soul.  But  it  is  a  Christian  duty  to 
minister  to  him,  and  make  his  situation  as  comfortable  as 
may  be." 

They  had  brought  cordials,  and  fruit,  and  rolls  of  linen ; 
but,  except  as  to  the  last,  they  were  too  late,  Richard  re- 
plied. 

They  would  go  in.  The  Boy  had  flung  himself  into  the 
chunney-corner.     The  Lady  Caroline  did  not  hesitate  to 


190  RICHARD   EDNEY    AND 

apply  the  fomentation  to  the  sick  man's  face  with  her  own 
hands.  Richard  feared  she  was  exposing  herself;  but  she 
would  do  it.  Richard  beheld  her,  shall  we  say,  with  aston- 
ishment. She  had  thrown  off  her  bonnet,  and  seemed  to 
act  as  if  she  were  the  chosen  nurse  of  the  hour. 

And  there  were  other  reasons  why  Richard  should  regard 
her  with  interest :  the  Lady  Caroline  was  a  noble  woman 
to  look  to;  she  completed  the  idea  of  what  is  called  an  ele- 
gant woman ;  and  she  exceeded  it,  in  that  she  added  thereto 
great  beauty  of  spirit,  and  the  charms  of  religious  self-denial. 
She  was  tall  and  proportionate,  with  hazel  eyes  and  hair, 
arched  brows,  and  a  very  perfect  mouth ;  and  in  the  excite- 
ment of  action,  her  face  kindled  with  the  hues  of  spiritual 
and  deep  sensibility. 

Barbara  turned  to  the  Boy,  whose  distress  startled  her 
tenderness.  She  spoke  kindly  to  him,  —  he  did  not  look  up  ; 
she  laid  her  hand  on  his  head,  —  he  hunched  it  off;  she 
offered  him  an  orange,  —  he  hunched  at  that. 

Ada  talked  with  Richard ;  she  ventured  to  say  the  room 
seemed  lacking  in  comforts  and  care.  Chuk  let  fly  at  her 
a  salvo  of  oaths.  "  Bill  could  n't  live  anywhere  else,"  he 
said;  "and  you  want  to  bring  in  your  handyjingledoms 
here,  and  kill  him  before  his  time  !  If  you  touch  a  thing, 
^  he  '11  die  !  That  block  is  where  he  used  to  set ;  that  coat  is 
just  where  he  threw  it  off,  when  he  took  to  his  bed ;  there  is 
where  he  spit  his  tobacco,  —  he  could  spit  against  any  man 
living;  them  shavings  he  whittled  from  a  new  paddle:  but 
he  '11  never  want  it,  —  he  '11  never  ask  where  it  is  ;  and  its 
there,  —  there,  in  the  corner,  right  before  his  eyes,  and, 
curse  him,  he  can't  see  it  I  "  He  swore  himself  into  a  sort  of 
blubbering  yex,  and  brayed  his  eyes  with  his  fingers,  as  if 
he  was  angry  with  them  for  their  ability  to  see,  and  would 
grind  them  to  powder. 


THE    governor's    FAMILY.  191 

It  was  easier  to  minister  to  the  dying  than  the  living. 
The  ladies  did  all  they  could  do,  and  left.  Richard  was 
not  detained  in  that  place  a  great  while.  The  disease  ran 
its  course  that  night ;  and  Bill  Stonners  died,  and  was 
buried. 

The  Boy  clung  with  fang-like  tenacity  to  the  old  spot. 
Bill  had  no  other  heirs,  and  Chuk  became  sole  proprietor 
of  the  estate  and  the  business.  Every  day,  Mysie  carried 
him  a  mug  of  milk. 


CHAPTER    XV. 

RICHARD   VISITS    QUIET   ARBOR. 

Clover  had  been  fairly  beaten  at  the  Anti-Slavery  Meet- 
ing, but  he  knew  his  antagonist  was  an  honorable  one  ;  nay, 
he  thought  that  Richard,  like  one  having  got  a  large  advan- 
tage, might  be  disposed  to  make  some  deduction ;  and  he 
was  sure  he  was  rich  enough  in  spoils  to  offer  a  handsome 
present.  "  You  can't  refuse  the  favor  of  going  with  me  to 
Quiet  Arbor."  Of  course,  Richard  could  not ;  it  would  give 
him  compunction  to  refuse  Clover  even  a  larger  favor. 

Quiet  Arbor  was  in  the  basement  of  an  extensive  block 
of  buildings,  lying  on  the  margin  of  a  small  stream,  called 
the  Pebbles,  a  tributary  of  the  River.  Red  curtains  shaded 
the  windows  and  the  glass  door,  just  to  show  to  the  world 
how  quiet  it  was  ;  nothing  glary,  nothing  dazzling,  nothing 
that  should  disturb  the  serenity  of  the  passer-by,  or  seem 
ostentatious  to  anybody. 

And  Clover  and  Richard  entered  it  ver}^  quietly;  and  the 
Friend  of  the  People  —  the  man  of  the  timid  eye  and  a 
small  hacking  cough — was  very  quiet  behind  the  bar; 
very  quiet  in  pouring  out  liquors,  very  quiet  in  stirring  the 
glasses.  Only  when  a  new  customer  called,  or  v;hen  Hels- 
kill  dropped  the  silver  in  his  till,  he  vented  this  small,  hack- 
ing cough.  There  were  men  in  the  room  who  had  drank, 
and  men  who  were  going  to  drink ;  men  in  different  stages 
of  drink,  and  men  in  all  stages  of  drink  ;  but  they  were 
quiet ;  —  perhaps  because  it  was  early  in  the  evening,  and 
like   other  gatherings   of   the  human   species,   they  were 


RICHARD   EDNEY,    ETC.  193 

not  yet  waked  up,  —  the  fervor  of  the  occasion  was  slow  in 
mounting.  There  were  young  men,  and  some  gray-headed 
men,  and,  as  well  as  the  dim  light  and  clouds  of  tobacco- 
smoke  would  allow  him  to  ascertain,  there  were  some  whom 
Richard  knew.  But  Richard,  participating  in  the  spirit  of 
the  place,  was  quiet  also,  and  said  nothing. 

Helskill's  whole  soul  seemed  to  start  out  from  under  his 
heavy  eyebrows,  and  to  shrink  into  a  most  fearful  glance  at 
Richard,  and  finally  to  be  cracked  off  in  a  quick  short  cough, 
as  he  saw  him  advance.  But  this  was  soon  over,  and  the 
people  in  the  room,  who  had  been  aroused  by  that  sudden 
cough,  relapsed  into  repose. 

Clover  led  Richard  through  this  room,  towards  another, 
which  he  gave  him  to  understand  was  the  Grotto.  When 
Helskill  saw  Richard  approaching  that  door,  he  hacked  three 
or  four  times  in  rapid  succession,  but  Clover  winked  him 
into  silence.  The  apartment  into  which  they  now  entered 
was  quite  subterranean,  and  hence  the  pertinence  of  the 
name.  Ventilation  must  have  been  supported  by  mysteri- 
ously arranged  conduits,  the  course  and  outlets  of  which 
were  invisible.  It  was  well  lighted  by  a  brace  of  solar 
lamps  suspended  over  two  tables.  At  these  tables  sat  men 
playing  cards.  There  were  stakes  of  money,  watches,  and 
jewelrJ^  Decanters  of  high-colored  beverage  adorned  the 
retreat. 

Capt.  Creamer  was  there ;  he  did  not  hack  when  he  saw 
Richard,  —  he  put  his  hand  to  his  eye,  as  if  he  would  cor- 
rect his  vision,  —  as  if  he  was  not  right  at  first.  But  he  was 
right;  it  was  Richard,  his  slip-tender.  And  how  it  pleased 
the  Captain  to  know  who  it  was  I  Dropping  his  finger  to 
his  lips,  he  kissed  it  to  Richard  ;  and  jumping  up,  he  seized 
him  both  by  the  hand  and  the  shoulder,  and  leading  him 
forward  with  a  double  gripe  of  honor,  introduced  him  to 
17 


194  RICHARD   EDNEY   AND 

young  Chassford,  son  of  Dr.  Chassford,  and  Glendar,  nephew 
of  Mrs.  Melbourne. 

"  Play  ?  "  said  the  Captain,  snapping  a  card  in  a  very  con- 
fidential sort  of  way.  "  I  do  not  play,"  replied  Eichard, 
affecting  a  pun  ;  "  I  take  it  more  seriously."  The  Captain, 
pretending  to  understand  him,  laughed  very  hard,  while 
Kichard  quietly  ensconced  himself  in  a  seat  by  the  wall. 

Tunny  was  there,  and  so  was  the  Sailmaker ;  and  these 
were  playing  against  each  other,  and  so  thoughtful  of  their 
sport,  they  did  not  notice  Richard. 

Yes,  Tunny  was  there,  and  he  knew  he  was  there ;  even 
if  Mrs.  Tunny  did  n't  know  it,  and  Dr.  Broadwell  did  n't 
know  it,  he  knew  it,  and  felt  it.  He  felt  it  in  his  forelock, 
and  was  trying  to  hetchel  it  out  with  his  fingers ;  he  felt  it 
in  his  chair,  that  seemed  to  burn  under  him ;  and  he  felt  it 
in  his  conscience,  where  the  facts  in  the  case  were  at  work 
like  a  miserere  met  with  an  hundred  hands,  wringing,  grind- 
ing, taughtening,  till  he  seemed  paler,  and  thinner,  and 
smaller  than  ever. 

And  the  Sailmaker  knew  Tunny  was  there,  and  meant 
he  should  be  there,  and  would  not  have  him  elsewhere  for 
the  world. 

Richard  saw  another  man  there,  whom  he  had  also  seen 
about  the  Saw-mill,  and  who  he  knew  had  a  young  wife  and 
small  children  to  support,  and  who,  he  was  well  assured, 
had  better  be  anywhere  else.  It  was  Cornelius  Wheelan, 
a  River-man,  who  owned  a  flat-boat,  and  conveyed  lumber 
from  the  Mills  to  the  ships  that  anchor  in  the  Harbor. 

"  You  were  at  Tunny's  the  other  night,"  said  the  Captain 
to  Richard.  "  A  pleasant  party ;  it  takes  some  of  our  young 
men  from  the  country  a  good  while  to  get  the  hay-seed  out 
of  their  hair ;  but  no  one  would  imagine,  Edney,  you  had 
ever  seen  a  barn.     Why  did  you  not  dance  ?     Ah,  you  are 


THE    governor's   FAMILY.  195 

afraid  of  Dr.  Broadwell,  I  see.  I  cannot  blame  you  for 
that.  Yet,  between  you  and  me,  I  think  the  Doctor  carries 
matters  a  little  too  far.  Our  young  men  need  recreation ; 
perhaps  we  are  too  fond  of  it.  Chassford  drags  me  into  it. 
But  one  has  now  and  then  a  spare  evening  on  hand,  which 
he  must,  so  to  say,  bolt  down,  and  get  rid  of.  I  never  will 
back  out  when  a  noble-hearted  fellow  wants  company. 
Cards  are  perhaps  too  fascinating  for  you.  We  've  a  new 
kind,  —  the  Merry  Andrews,  —  most  comical  objects." 

Richard  replied  that  they  were  all  alike  to  him. 

"  I  presume  so,"  rejoined  the  Captain,  affectedly  laughing; 
"  I  presume  so." 

In  fact,  Richard  was  not  only  ignorant  of  cards,  but  so 
unconscious  of  the  pleasure  of  gaming,  that  he  quite  abruptly 
rose  to  leave  the  room.  On  his  way  out,  he  looked  at 
■^  Tunny,  and  tapped  him  on  the  shoulder.  O  that  he  had 
Klumpp's  eye  !  —  but  he  had  n't.  Yet  he  had  an  eye,  that 
operated  on  Tunny  worse  than  his  internal  gripes ;  and  as  if 
he'was  as  thin  as  some  of  our  newspapers,  that  look  seemed 
to  annihilate  what  there  was  left  of  him.  The  Sailmaker 
resented  this  interference,  but  Richard  had  no  controversy 
with  the  Sailmaker.  Tunny  revived  sufficiently  to  whisper 
in  Richard's  ear,  "  Don't  tell  Mrs.  Tunny."  Richard  passed 
on  to  Cornelius  Wheelan,  and  did  not  tap  him,  for  he  was  a 
stronger  man,  but  thumped  him  on  the  back.  Now,  Corne- 
lius was  partly  in  liquor,  and  did  not  take  the  sense  of  the 
blow.  He  drew  upon  Richard ;  but  Richard  whispered 
something  in  his  ear,  —  something  of  his  wife  and  children, 
we  guess,  —  and  he  was  still.  Interlocking  with  him,  Richard 
led  him  from  the  room.  When  he  reached  the  other  apart- 
xnent,  he  found  the  calmness  somewhat  broken ;  and  the 
Friend  of  the  People,  when  he  saw  Richard,  and  knowing 
how  he  loved  quietness,  and  fearing  that  the  pleasure  of  his 


196  RICHARD   EDNEY,   ETC. 

visit  might  be  marred,  said,  "  Let  us  be  quiet,  friends." 
These  were  the  very  words  he  said. 

But  Richard  manifested  no  uneasiness;  only,  clinging  to 
Cornelius,  and  followed  by  Clover,  he  left  the  Arbor. 

Clover  followed  him,  we  say,  and  asked  him  to  go  back. 
He  said  there  was  a  private  entrance  to  the  Grotto,  and  they 
could  reach  it  unobserved.  But  Richard  went  on,  arm  in 
arm  with  Cornelius  ;    and  Clover  himself  returned. 

Was  Clover  disappointed  in  Richard  ?  Did  he  not  under- 
stand him  ?  Did  he  suppose  he  would  game,  or  that  he  was 
game  ?     If  he  did,  he  was  very  stupid. 

Richard  went  with  Cornelius  to  his  own  home.  It  was 
now  near  midnight ;  but  there  sat  his  wife  waiting  for  him  — 
there  were  his  children  in  bed  sleeping  for  him.  Cornelius 
fell  at  the  feet  of  his  wife ;  he  rolled  on  the  bed  where  the 
children  lay,  stinging  with  remorse  and  shame,  and  over- 
whelmed by  a  tumult  of  recollections. 


CHAPTER    XVI. 


THE    ICE    GOES    OUT. 


That  which  Chuk  looked  forward  to  with  so  sad  a 
heart ;  which  thousands  of  people  up  and  down  the  valley- 
anticipated  as  the  opening  in  the  midst  of  their  towns  and 
villages  of  a  new,  radiant,  beautiful  realm  of  existence ; 
what  the  travelling  public  were  on  tip-toe  for,  and  mer- 
chants and  customers,  and  mill-owners  and  log-drivers, 
were  so  interested  in ;  what  many  a  coaster  from  sunnier 
climes  was  spreading  all  sail  for,  and  hundreds  of  fond 
souls,  awaiting  union  with  other  fond  souls,  in  distant 
places,  had  almost  despaired  of,  was  at  hand,  —  the  ice  be- 
gan to  start.  The  warm  weather,  the  dissolving  snows,  the 
powerful  rains,  generously  combined  for  this  end. 

All  who  had  occasion  to  use  the  "  Free  Bridge,"  as  the 
ice  was  called,  hastened  to  do  so.  The  wood-mongers  got 
their  loads  over;  those  who  had  bulky  articles  of  any  sort 
to  transport  fidgeted  lest  they  should  be  too  late.  One  of 
the  last  incidents  was  what  befell  a  gentleman  in  his  ardor 
to  avoid  the  odious  wooden  structure  to  which  we  have  re- 
ferred, —  he  drove  a  valuable  horse  through  the  ice,  and 
drowned  him.  Of  course,  everybody  said  the  ice  must  be 
very  rotten. 

Large  rocks,  that  had  been  hauled  on  the  ice  for  the  con- 
struction or  repairing  of  booms,  were  seen  to  sink.  Mer- 
chandise that  had  been  deposited  in  store-houses  on  the 
wharves  was  removed,  against  the  possibility  of  an  inun- 
dation. 


198  RICHARD    EDNEY   AND 

The  Bridge  too,  the  reviled  Bridge,  with  its  great  wood- 
en eyes,  reposing  on  its  immense  stone  piers,  looked  on 
very  quietly,  — it  was  quiet  as  Helskill  himself;  it  did  not 
resent  the  "Free  Bridge,"  —  it  did  not  laugh  when  the 
horse  went  down,  — it  did  not  shake  its  head  when  sleighs 
galloped  by  on  the  ice,  and  frumped  at  its  slow  walk ;  it 
seemed  to  fold  its  arms  and  say,  "I  can  bide  my  time. 
You  will  perhaps  sing  another  tune,  by  and  by." 

These  things  were  done,  and  with  unacknowledged  im- 
patience all  waited  for  the  issue. 

First  is  the  cracking  of  the  ice.  This  is  generally  instan- 
taneous and  universal.  The  rise  of  the  water,  the  conflu- 
ence of  the  stream  above  with  a  high  tide  from  below,  pro- 
duce the  effect.  The  entire  field  is  on  the  instant  traversed 
with  innumerable  irregular  lines,  and  divided  by  a  rude 
polyhedral  fracture,  and  the  whole  mass  is  gently  agitated. 

There  were  many  who  heard  the  cracking,  and  some 
who  saw  it,  and  would  asseverate  stoutly  what  time  it  was, 
and  where  they  stood  ;  and  knots  of  men  and  boys  who 
hang  about  the  docks  would  get  into  a  vociferous  scuffle 
because  they  had  seen  so  much. 

But  the  ice  is  not  discharged  in  a  minute.  That  lying 
between  the  Bridge  and  the  Dam,  where  the  water  runs 
very  swiftly,  is  first  set  adrift.  This  sails  with  moderation 
and  dignity,  and  stops  on  the  piers  of  the  Bridge,  awaiting 
events.  It  sometimes  lies  there  three  or  four  days.  Below 
the  Bridge  the  stream  expands  in  a  broad  basin,  interspersed 
with  islands,  and  constitutes  the  Harbor.  Beyond  this,  and 
about  a  mile  from  the  city,  are  what  are  called  the  Narrows. 
These  are  not  yet  free,  and  the  loosened  ice  of  the  Harbor, 
like  a  fleet  of  boats  ready  to  put  to  sea,  rocks  leisurely  on 
the  current ;  the  abraded  fragments  are  thrown  into  heaps, 
—  the  cakes  careen  and  expose  their  bright  edges,  —  the 


THE    GOVEENOr's   FAMILY.  199 

water  bubbles  up  in  many  dark  fissures ;  boys  go  out  and 
stand  on  the  large  cakes,  with  their  hands  in  their  breeches 
pockets,  —  a  cool  way  they  have  of  taunting  the  ice ;  some 
creep  to  the  edge  of  the  cakes  and  look  into  the  water,  so 
rejoiced  are  they  to  see  it ;  some  find  the  smallest  possible 
lump  that  will  bear  them,  as  much  as  to  say  to  the  ice  its 
reign  is  over ;  one  or  two  get  dumped  into  the  stream,  but 
this  only  shows  how  near  at  hand  is  the  long  wished-for 
crisis ;  some  set  off  with  billets  of  wood  and  thump  on  it,  to 
wake  it  up,  and  set  it  stirring. 

Presently  the  Narrows  were  pronounced  clear ;  and  there, 
between  the  dark,  pine-clad  hills,  on  a  shining  mirror,  the 
light  of  the  sun  was  reflected,  silvery  and  exultant ;  and  an 
opening  of  light  and  joy  glistened  in  the  heart  of  Woodylin. 
Then  the  loosened  pieces  next  above  drifted  ofT;  they  went 
in  shoals,  platoon-like.  In  the  afternoon  another  division 
followed.  The  next  morning  beheld  the  Harbor  without  a 
vestige  of  its  winter  bands. 

At  the  Saw-mills  these  things  created  their  wonted  inter- 
est. The  water  lay  in  a  broad,  level  plain  behind  the  Mills, 
now  turbid  indeed,  and  beginning  to  seethe  and  surge,  by 
reason  of  the  increased  volume  pouring  over  the  Dam.  The 
hollows  in  the  bed  of  the  stream  were  filled,  and  the  "  rips" 
concealed  from  sight.  The  icicles  that  form  on  the  fall  of 
the  Dam,  —  glacial  stalactites,  a  columnar  A^eil  extending 
nearly  the  whole  length  of  the  structure,  —  these  Richard 
saw  give  way  and  tumble  into  the  stream. 

But  the  end  was  not  yet, — hardly  the  beginning.  The 
ice  above  the  Dam,  where  the  waters  form  a  vast  pond,  had 
not  started.  At  the  head  of  the  pond  was  probably  also  a 
jam  of  ice.  And  likewise  up  the  River,  like  the  locks  of  a 
canal,  rising  one  above  another,  and  each  having  its  own 
level,  were  other  dams,  and  ponds,  and   jams.     On  num- 


200  RICHARD   EDNEY   AND 

berless  tributaries,  the  ice,  swathed  by  narrow,  winding 
shores,  stagnated  in  marshes  and  on  flats,  arrested  also  by- 
frequent  petty  dams,  had  made  little  progress.  Then,  quite 
likely,  as  you  approached  the  sources  of  the  stream,  in  a 
higher  latitude,  the  waters  still  slumbered  in  their  wintry 
solitudes,  and  gave  no  vernal  intimations  whatever.  So 
that  there  were  hundreds  of  miles  of  substance,  solid  as  the 
earth  itself,  and  seeming  to  be  a  part  of  its  rocky  crust,  yet 
to  slide  off,  yet  to  mount  the  crest  of  the  Dam,  to  be  com- 
pressed within  the  piers  of  the  Bridge,  and  pass  through 
the  city. 

But  such  a  finale  would  require  another  rain,  or  more 
heat. 

Then  what  might  happen  ?  This  :  that  the  ice  would  be 
choked  in  the  Narrows,  a  dam  extemporized,  and  a  jam 
created,  having  at  its  back  these  hundred  miles  of  fluent 
blocks ;  and  that  the  water,  indignant  at  this  detention, 
recoiling,  striking  on  the  right  and  left  at  the  shores,  w^hich 
it  supposes  to  be  accomplices  in  this  attempt  at  subjugation, 
shall  engulf  the  lower  parts  of  the  city,  deluging  stores, 
and  barricading  streets;  overflow  the  Pebbles,  and  dis- 
turb the  repose  of  Quiet  Arbor;  and  lifting  the  ponderous 
Bridge  from  its  abutments,  and  the  strong  mills  from  their 
beds,  toss  them  both  into  the  torrent.  Such  things  were 
dreamed  of. 

But  the  rain,  impatient  at  the  dilatoriness  of  the  heat, — 
black  in  the  face,  swollen  in  its  veins,  —  just  tightened  its 
girdle,  and  began  its  task.  For  two  days  and  two  nights  it 
labored  like  a  steam-pump,  without  once  losing  its  wind. 
It  created  a  flood  on  its  ov\ti  behalf,  independently  of  the 
River,  in  barn-yards  and  wood-yards,  in  cellars  and  drains ; 
the  streets  were  a  freshet  of  mud. 

But  the  eviction  of  the  ice  and  freedom  of  the  River 


THE  governor's  FAMILY.  201 

was  its  great  object ;  and  this  the  rain  did  by  a  gradual  pro- 
cess of  undermining,  beginning  at  the  Bridge,  and  carried 
on  to  the  tips  of  the  fingers  of  the  tributaries,  and  to  the 
hairs  of  the  head  of  the  stream ;  insinuating  itself  beneath 
the  superincumbent  mass  by  millions  of  sluices  dispersed 
over  millions  of  acres  of  soil. 

The  Mills,  to  be  technically  precise,  hung  up ;  the  gates 
were  shut ;  the  hands  scattered,  —  some  busy  on  repairs, 
others  idly  observing  the  course  of  the  flood. 

Richard  saw  the  first  ice  flake  over  the  Dam ;  then  an 
immense  sheet,  many  rods  square,  parting  in  regular  sec- 
tions, like  snow  sliding  from  the  roof  of  a  house,  came  on. 
Then  acres  of  the  crystal,  so  long  in  suspense,  plunged  for- 
ward, and  the  broad  expanse  of  water  was  full  of  ice, — 
like  all  the  blocks  of  granite  Quincy  ever  produced  or  ever 
will  produce,  set  suddenly  afloat.  Intermingled  with  the 
seething  shoal  were  peeled  logs ;  trees  that  had  been  ravished 
by  their  roots  from  the  banks ;  small  buildings,  which  the 
flood  picked  off*  in  passing,  and  the  wash  of  all  the  woods 
and  fields.  It  would  take  twenty-four  hours  for  the  whole 
to  run  by. 

Night  came  on  apace,  and  the  people  of  Woodylin  went  to 
bed  with  some  degree  of  uncertainty  as  to  what  the  morning 
triight  disclose,  inasmuch  as  so  sudden  a  rise  was  not  often 
chronicled.  In  the  middle  of  the  night  the  Church-bells 
rang,  and  the  people  hurried  to  the  River.  Some  said  it 
was  flowing  back,  and,  of  course,  a  jam  was  formed  at  the 
Narrows.  Lanterns  gleamed ;  anxious  voices  and  hurried 
steps  could  be  distinguished.  The  riparians  must  strip 
their  houses ;  destructibles  must  be  hoisted  from  the  base- 
ment of  the  stores ;  the  Timid  Man  fled  to  the  rescue  of  his 
bottles.  The  Bridge  was  thronged :  beneath  it  crunched 
and  rumbled  the  burdened  current ;  upright  beams,  which 


202  RICHARD    EDNEY   AND 

the  flood  bore  on  its  surface,  were  hurled  against  it,  making 
its  own  beams  creak  and  tremble. 

Where  vvas  Richard  ?  Where  he  ought  to  be,  —  helping 
Mr,  Gouch,  who  lived  on  the  shore,  save  his  furniture. 
Where  was  Tunny  ?  Sweating  over  the  hatchway  of  his 
cellar,  hoisting  up  potatoes  and  a  rat-trap.  Where  were 
Memmy  and  Bebby?  Fast  asleep  in  their  trundle-bed. 
Where  was  Chuk  ?  He  and  Mysie  were  out  together  and 
alone,  in  that  horrible  time,  trying  to  secure  his  boom. 
Where  vvas  the  Governor's  Family  ?  Down  on  the  Bridge. 
Let  us  not  particularize. 

Up  the  waters  came,  —  up  with  a  rush,  —  up  like  a  race 
horse,  up  the  landing-places,  and  the  passages  between  the 
stores  and  the  end  of  the  streets  leading  to  the  River,  and 
the  Pebbles.  There  was  a  frightful  hiss  in  the  stream,  as  it 
swept  under  the  Bridge,  and  a  melancholy  roar  in  its  fast 
accumulating  waters  above,  and  the  dark-ness  of  the  night 
was  awful.  People's  hearts  swelled  as  the  waters  did,  and 
were  as  dark  as  the  night  was.  Now  the  ice  was  so  high 
that  it  struck  the  bottom  of  the  Bridge,  and  every  man's 
heart  seemed  to  be  thwacked  and  going.  Some  ran  as  if 
the  Bridge  was  falling;  others  clenched  themselves  into 
silence. 

The  Governor,  with  his  hands  in  his  side-pockets,  at- 
tended by  his  two  oldest  sons,  walked  leisurelj^  across  the 
Bridge. 

"  Do  you  think  she  will  stand  ?"  said  one  to  him.  "  I  do 
not  know,"  he  replied ;  "  if  it  goes  it  goes,  and  there  is  no 
help  for  it."  The  same  question  he  was  asked  forty  times, 
and  he  made  nearly  the  same  answer.  Did  he  not  care  ? 
He  was  a  share-holder  in  the  concern.  O,  it  was  a  way  he 
had.  But  the  people  did  care.  "  It  rises  slower,"  said  one. 
'  But  it  is  still  rising,"  rejoined  another.     "  Two  inches 


THE    governor's    FAMILY.  203 

more,  and  we  are  gone."  It  was  as  if  their  hearts  would  go, 
in  two  inches  more.  "  Horrible  to  think  of!  "  they  exclaimed. 
"  The  worst  thing  that  could  happen."  "  The  loss  of  the 
Bridge  would  ruin  a  whole  season's  business  !  "  "  What 
could  we  do  without  it  ?  " 

All  at  once  a  voice  might  have  been  heard,  as  of  the 
Bridge  speaking,  —  a  voice  that  sounded  gruffand  sepulchral, 
from  end  to  end  of  the  dark,  timber-teeming  vault.  "  Ye  are 
scared,  ye  are  troubled,"  it  said,  "  sinners  that  ye  are  !  How 
often  have  ye  taunted  and  scandalized  me  !  How  often  have 
ye  scolded  at  your  tolls,  and  abused  the  gate-keeper !  What 
conspiracies  have  ye  hatched  against  me  !  What  mutterings 
have  filled  your  streets  about  me  !  Year  after  year  have  I 
listened  to  your  complaints,  and  borne  with  your  revilings. 
Year  after  year  have  I  aided  your  passage  across  the  stream, 
and  received  in  return  your  ingratitude  and  scorn.  Every 
beam  and  rafter  is  witness  to  your  maledictions  ;  every  plank 
in  my  floor  is  worn  with  the  foot  of  your  contempt.  What 
will  ye  now,  ye  poltroons  ?  Too  dark,  am  I,  for  your  ladies  ? 
Too  exorbitant  for  your  poor  ones  ?  What  means  your  con- 
sternation ? " 

The  people  were  aghast. 

"  Ye  have  wished  me  out  of  the  way,"  the  Bridge  con- 
tinued ;  "  ye  have  denounced  me  as  a  nuisance.  Shall  I 
leap  into  the  water  ?  " 

"  JVIercy  !  mercy  !  "  cried  the  people. 

A  voice  was  heard  from  the  Kiver.  "  I  know  those  fel- 
lows," it  said.  "  They  thought  they  had  me  under  their 
feet,  when  the  ice  was  on,  and  they  could  cross  for  nothing. 
They  thought  I  was  of  no  consequence,  and  grudged  the 
pennies  they  paid  for  getting  over  me.  Every  curse  on 
you,  my  good  friend,  I  have  felt  as  a  slight  on  me.  I  have 
not  said  much  about  it,  but  I  have  felt  it.     I  am  glad  you 


204  EICHAKD   EDNEY   AND 

have  spoken ;  I  am  glad  the  ice  is  broke.  It  was  you,  Mr. 
Bridge,  that  gave  me  a  sense  of  my  dignity  and  importance. 
When  I  saw  your  piers  going  up,  and  your  sills  laying,  and 
the  heavy  couplings  entering  into  your  superstructure,  I  felt 
that  I  was  something.  I  am  getting  ready  a  jam  of  ice.  I 
will  help  you  off,  and  punish  these  impudent  bipeds." 

"Oh!  oh!  "  screamed  the  people. 

"  Down  upon  your  knees,  every  man  of  you  !  down  into 
the  dust  ye  have  hated,  and  ask  our  forgiveness,"  rejoined 
the  Bridge ;  "  and  we  will  see  what  shall  be  done  with 
you." 

While  the  Bridge  is  dealing  with  the  malcontents,  let  us 
follow  the  Governor  into  the  streets.  When  he  saw  how 
the  water  was  rising,  he  bethought  him  of  a  widow  that 
occupied  one  of  his  houses  on  the  margin  of  the  Pebbles. 
He  hastened  thither,  with  his  sons.  He  found  the  woman 
and  her  family  up  and  alarmed ;  but  the  water  never  before, 
so  far  as  the  Governor  could  recollect,  had  covered  that  spot. 
The  River  had  lost  its  recollection  too,  and  on  it  came, 
rushing,  like  a  mill-tail,  over  the  sills  of  the  house.  Roscoe 
seized  one  child,  Benjamin  another,  and  the  mother  followed 
with  a  third.  The  Governor  set  off  with  a  bed.  But  the 
River,  though  it  was  the  Governor,  and  everybody  rever- 
enced him  for  his  wisdom,  thought  he  might  still  be  taught 
a  few  things,  and  poured  upon  him  breast  high,  and  threw 
in,  to  increase  the  weight  of  its  impressions,  a  boulder  of  ice. 
The  Governor,  never  easily  thrown  from  his  balance,  never 
yet  prostrated  by  adversity,  clung  to  the  branch  of  a  tree, 
and  defended  himself  with  the  bed,  against  the  ice. 

Now,  quicker  than  this  pen  can  move,  Richard  was  there, 
and  Munk,  and  Silver,  and  the  gang  that  had  been  relieving 
distress  elsewhere,  and  they  dashed  into  the  water  and 
rescued  the  Governor. 


THE    governor's    FAMILY.  205 

Now,  also,  the  River,  having  concluded  terms  with  the 
backbiters,  fell  off  as  suddenly  as  it  had  risen.  Down  it 
went,  in  the  twinkling  of  an  eye ;  the  jam  had  broken,  and 
the  peril  was  over. 

Now,  also,  since  the  suspense  is  ended,  and  we  can  speak 
of  it,  it  will  be  expected  we  should  say  that  Richard  was 
the  first  to  leap  in  after  the  Governor ;  that  in  his  young 
and  athletic  arms  he  grasped  the  bruised  and  exhausted 
magnate,  and  bore  him  to  dry  land.  Poetical  justice  to 
Richard,  and  to  the  Governor's  Family,  and  to  the  whole 
scope  of  this  book,  and  to  the  hearts  of  its  million,  polyglot- 
tal,  deeply  interested  readers,  requires  this.  Well,  it  is  so : 
fact  coincides  with  fancy,  and  Richard,  who,  by  the  way, 
was  a  very  accommodating  youth,  did  just  what  poetic  justice 
and  all  our  readers  would  wish  him  to  do. 

The  Governor  was  not  much  hurt,  —  he  never  was  ;  he 
went  home,  and  to  bed,  and  all  the  city  did  the  same. 

The  next  morning  the  people  turned  out  to  see  what  had 
happened,  and  to  mangonize  on  what  might  have  happened. 
The  ice  still  flowed,  and  the  river  luxuriated  in  the  calm 
magnificence  of  inundation.  The  Dam  supplied  the  princi- 
pal attraction,  and  hither  many  came. 

The  water  passed  the  crest  at  a  height  of  fifteen  feet 
greater  than  its  common  level,  and  the  whole  structure 
seemed  to  have  suddenly  mounted  so  many  degrees.  The 
entire  volume  of  water  had  swelled  in  proportion,  and  the 
River  seemed  like  a  vast  lake  that  had  broke  out  within  the 
precincts  of  the  city.  The  Dam,  a  thousand  feet  long, 
poured  like  a  Niagara  in  its  teens.  At  its  foot  was  the 
rabid  "  boil  "  and  terrific  undertow  ;  caverns  were  hollowed 
out  in  the  liquid  rage  ;  smooth  arches  sported  over  the  ex- 
acerbated surface  ;  the  spray  rose  soft  and  beautiful ;  jets  of 
sparkling  crystals  spurted  from  the  dark  depths  beneath; 
18 


206  RICHARD   EDNEY   AND 

an  occasional  ice-plateau,  like  the  deck  of  a  man-of-war, -was 
precipitated  down  the  fall,  and  borne,  a  shivering,  scattered 
wreck,  across  the  field  of  view. 

To  Richard  this  scene  was  new,  and  he  sat  at  the  back- 
door of  the  Mill  looking  at  it.  Many  gentlemen  and  ladies 
came  to  the  same  spot,  among  whom  were  jMelicent  and 
Barbara  Dennington,  their  little  brother,  Sebastian  Rasle, 
and  niece,  Alice  Weymouth.  With  them  were  Webster 
Chassford  and  Glendar. 

Now  Chassford  and  Glendar  had  seen  Richard  a  few 
nights  before,  but  they  did  not  remember  him.  The  Den- 
ningtons  remembered  him  well,  and  talked  with  him.  The 
River  repeated  its  wonders  every  year,  but  the  beauty  and 
the  grandeur  of  the  scene  were  continually  revealing  a  new 
shape  to  the  minds  of  these  ladies,  and  awakening  fresh  trans- 
ports of  delight;  and  while  the  whole  was  comparatively 
novel  to  Richard,  they  could  meet  him  quite  half  way  in 
the  enthusiasm  of  the  hour.  Water  is  always  quickening 
to  the  spirit  of  the  beholder,  and  such  water  was  very 
quickening.  They  had  much  to  say  and  to  feel  about  it, 
and,  as  it  happened,  their  three  sayings  and  feelings,  like 
the  subject  thereof,  ran  in  the  same  channel.  Glendar 
dipped  in  his  oar,  and  rowed  with  the  ladies  a  while  ;  finally, 
so  to  speak,  he  got  them  into  his  own  boat,  and  rowed  in 
another  direction.  Richard,  with  his  pocket-knife,  was 
carving  toys,  out  of  a  piece  of  pine,  for  Memmy  and  Bebbj-. 
So  he  kept  at  his  work,  and  ht  his  boat  run  whither  it  list. 
He  tried  to  talk  with  Alice  Weymouth,  but  she  blushed 
deeply,  and  said  little.  She  was  a  black-eyed  girl,  about 
twelve  years  old,  with  a  quick,  sensitive  face  ;  and  every 
time  Richard  looked  at  her,  she  half  laughed  and  wholly 
blushed;  and,  clinging  to  Aunt  Barbara's  hand,  she  seemed 
quite  unable  to   support   conversation.      Melicent  did  ask 


THE  governor's  FAMILY.  207 

what  Richard  was  malv-ing-,  and  he  told  her ;  and  she  even 
dropped  a  question  or  two  about  the  children,  and  he  could 
have  answered  a  folio  volume.  But  she  was  polite,  and  he 
was  polite  ;  and  she  had  other  friends  to  listen  to,  and  he  had 
no  wish  to  inflict  the  children  upon  her. 

Barbara  asked  Richard  if  he  had  seen  the  Boy,  Chuk, 
since  Bill  Stonners'  death.  He  had  not.  She  would  like 
to  go  and  see  him.  So  would  Richard  andMelicent;  and 
so  would  Chassford  and  Glendar.  And  they  all  started  for 
Bill  Stonners'  Point. 

Rasle  ran  everywhere ;  but  little  Alice  Weymouth  kept 
in  the  rear,  and  little  though  she  was,  she  seemed  to  be 
laboring  with  a  mighty  large  arrision  all  the  way  up ;  and 
every  time  she  looked  at  Richard,  she  laughed  the  more ; 
but  all  to  herself,  all  within  her  ovvn  thoughts.  If  the  oth- 
ers happened  to  look  back,  she  coughed  and  blushed,  and 
seemed  to  be  trying  to  cover  up  her  laughter  with  her  blushes. 
What  was  there  in  Richard  so  provoking,  or  so  titillating  ? 
He  wore  his  red  shirt,  and  snuff-colored  monkey-jacket,  and 
had  mounted  a  new  Rough  and  Ready  glazed  hat ;  but 
these  she  ought  not  to  laugh  at.  They  had  to  cross  a  small 
brook ;  and  while  Chassford  and  Glendar  were  attending  to 
the  ladies,  Richard  would  have  helped  her  over ;  but  she 
shrank  from  him,  —  she  seemed  to  feel  as  bad  to  have  him 
touch  her  as  Tunny  did  to  have  him  look  at  him. 

They  found  Chuk  in  trouble;  his  guys  had  parted,  and 
his  boom-sticks  were  broken.  Richard  promised  to  help 
repair  the  disaster  when  the  water  fell.  The  Boy  flung  his 
pole  into  the  stream,  and  himself  on  a  rock,  and  acted  quite 
desperately.  "  You  an't  Bill,"  said  he,  "  and  you  need  n't 
try  to  he  !  You  can't  swear  as  he  could  ;  and  the  ice  never 
crowded  so  when  he  was  alive,  and  could  swear  !  " 

Melicent  told  hun  not  to  feel  so  bad.     But  he  would  feel 


208  BICHARD    EDNEV    AND 

SO  bad  ;  that  was  his  prerogative,  —  it  was  his  duty.  Mysie 
brought  back  the  pole,  which  she  went  along  the  shore  and 
rescued,  and  gave  it  to  him.  She  said,  "  Bill  would  not  do 
so ;  and  I  would  not  do  so,  if  I  was  you.  You  can  mend  the 
boom,  and  there  '11  be  a  plenty  of  logs  by  and  bye.  We  did 
the  best  we  could."  Mysie  alone  seemed  to  have  power 
over  the  Boy  ;  but  her  power  did  not  always  prevail.  Chass- 
ford  put  a  silver  dollar  into  Chuk's  hand  ;  he  heaved  it  from 
him,  —  he  flung  it  with  sarcastic  swiftness  into  the  water. 
"We  did  n't  want  money,"  said  he  ;  "  we  wanted  life  ;  and 
your  father  would  n't  give  that,  and  he  shan't  give  t'  other. 
Let  the  River  have  it !  See  if  you  can't  buy  up  its  good-will  I " 
The  road  to  the  Point  went  by  Munk's ;  and  when  the 
party  returned,  the  children,  who  had  probably  already 
espied  them  from  the  kitchen  window,  stood  on  the  front 
door-step,  jiggling,  and  hooting,  and  clapping  their  hands  ; 
and  before  Richard  could  get  to  them,  Bebby  had  backed 
half  way  down  the  steps.  Their  uncle  took  them  both  in 
his  arms,  and  turned  towards  the  ladies.  These  were 
Memmy  and  Bebby  !  these  were  the  lords  paramount  of  that 
mighty  dom !  He  did  not  say  so,  but  the  fact  was  so.  Mel- 
icent  dotted  one,  with  her  smooth  kid-gloved  finger,  on 
the  cheek;  Barbara  chucked  the  other  under  its  chin. 
Alice  Weymouth  —  the  tyke  !  —  laughed  outright.  It  was 
all  day  with  her ;  she  began  to  splurt,  and  had  to  let  it  go. 
And  the  children  laughed  too ;  this  was  a  god-send  for 
Alice,  since  it  put  her  own  laughter  into  countenance,  and 
she  could  go  ahead  without  restraint ;  and  she  laughed 
herself  high  and  dry.  Indeed,  they  all  seemed  to  have  a 
merry  minute,  till  Mrs.  Munk  appeared  in  the  door,  calling 
after  the  children,  and  reproving  them  for  being  out,  and 
saying  they  would  certainly  catch  their  death  of  a  cold  to 
be  there  without  their  hoods  on. 


THE  governor's  FAMILY.  209 

Alice  Weymouth  laughed  no  more  till  she  reached  home. 
But  when  the  Family  were  sitting  at  dinner,  she  began 
again,  or  rather  the  imp  inside  of  her  began  again ;  she 
herself  bliished,  —  she  tried  to  drown  the  imp  with  a  glass  of 
water.  But  it  was  n't  to  be  drowned  ;  it  dashed  back  the 
water,  —  it  scattered  it  over  the  table.  "Why,  Alice  Wey- 
mouth !  "  said  Madam.  "  The  child  is  choking !  "  exclaimed 
Mrs.  Melbourne.  Cousin  Rowena  had  already  begun  to 
bite  her  lip,  a  sign  of  suppressed  emotion  ;  not  that  she  knew 
of  anything  to  laugh  at,  but  only  out  of  an  unconscious  sym- 
pathy of  joyous  feeling.  "  It  is  nothing,"  said  Alice  Wey- 
mouth, rather  in  reply  to  Mrs.  Melbourne  than  anybody 
else.  "  You  should  not  drink  so  fast,"  said  Madam,  qui- 
etly. The  more  attention  was  drawn  to  the  child,  the  worse 
she  acted ;  if  she  had  been  alone,  she  would  have  got  through 
with  it  well  enough.  "  Why  don't  you  speak,  if  you  have 
anything  to  say  ?  "  asked  Roscoe.  "  It  is  nothing,"  she 
said,  "  only  I  saw  Richard  Edney."  "  So  did  I,"  sang  out 
Rasle.  Miss  Rowena  laughed  outright,  now  ;  in  fact,  they 
all  laughed.  "  He  did  n't  hurt  you,  did  he  ? "  inquired 
Cousin.  "I  was  only  thinking,"  replied  the  child,  "it  was 
he  that  scared  us  so  on  the  Bridge,  that  he  was  the  one  that 
stopped  the  horse  when  Aunt  Melicent  like  to  have  been  run 
away  with,  and  that  he  dragged  Grandpa  out  of  the  water 
last  night.  I  did  n't  mean  to  laugh,  but  I  could  n't  help  it." 
It  was  out  now,  and  the  child  was  easier.  "  Nothing  to 
laugh  at,  I  am  sure,"  said  Mrs.  Melbourne.  "  You  are  at 
leisure  to  attend  to  other  matters,"  added  Madam;  "will 
you  have  some  cranberry  ?  "  "  How  did  he  look  ?  "  asked 
Miss  Rowena.  "  He  is  real  good-looking,"  replied  the  child. 
"  He  has  an  intelligent  look,  and  a  noble  bearing,"  observed 
Barbara.  "  He  looks  the  same  as  anybody  looks,  out  of  his 
eyes,"  added  Rasle,  who  had  the  reputation  of  being  a 
18^ 


210  RICHARD    EDNEY    AND 

smart  boy.  "I  do  not  know  how  he  looks,"  said  the  Gov- 
ernor, "  but  he  carries  a  pair  of  stout  arms.  —  Let  me  give 
you  a  thin  slice  of  beef,  Mrs.  Melbourne." 

"  It  was  so  funny,"  pursued  Alice  Weymouth,  "to  see  him 
talking  with  Aunt  Melicent  and  Aunt  Barbara,  and  to  see  him 
try  to  help  them  over  the  brook,  with  his  queer  hat  on,  and 
his  red  shirt !  "  "  Where  have  you  been  ?  what  has  been 
doing  ? "  asked  Madam,  rather  quick,  rather  nervously. 
"We  went  up  to  Bill  Stonners',"  responded  the  child,  "  to 
see  what  had  become  of  his  Boy."  "  This  Richard  Edney," 
said  Madam,  "  must  be  a  good  youth,"  —  here  she  laid  down 
her  knife,  unconsciously, —  "  a  very  good  youth," — her  fork 
dropped,  —  "  and  you  should  not  laugh  at  goodness,  Alice 
Weymouth;  nor  you,  Rasle."  "I  didn't,  Mother,"  replied 
the  boy,  "  and  I  shan't  be  likely  to  laugh  at  anything  again 
very  soon,  with  this  pickled  pepper  in  my  mouth.  I  wish 
peppers  was  sweet."  Madam  stirred  her  tea,  and  looked  at 
her  spoon,  —  she  had  tea  at  dinner.  "  Goodness,"  she  con- 
tinued, "  is  too  rare  in  this  world  to  be  treated  disrespect- 
fully when  it  does  come."  "  I  will  try  not  to  laugh,  next 
time,"  replied  Alice  Weymouth. 

So  fared  Richard  in  the  Governor's  Family,  to-day. 

He,  in  the  mean  time,  had  displayed  his  toys  to  Memmy 
and  Bebby,  and  I  guess  they  laughed  as  hard  as  Alice  Wey- 
mouth did.  He  had  made  them  a  little  wagon,  and  a  little 
old  man  that  he  called  Uncle  Squib,  and  a  very  little  chub 
of  a  baby  that  he  called  Tuckey,  to  sit  in  it;  and  the  way 
Uncle  Squib  and  Tuckey  were  whisked  across  the  room  was 
a  caution  to  rail-roads,  to  say  nothing  of  Winlde,  and  the 
four  best  horses  in  his  team. 

If  we  wish  to  run  a  further  parallel  between  the  heroic 
elements  of  our  book,  we  should  say,  that  at  the  precise 
instant  Melicent  and  Barbara  were  setting  back  the  table  in 


THE    governor's    FAMILY.  211 

their  dining-room,  Richard  was  helping  his  sister,  Roxy, 
with  the  same  office  in  her  kitchen,  and  that  the  two  tables 
struck  the  wall  together. 

As  Richard  returned  from  the  Mill  at  night,  Clover 
walked  on  with  him.  "  Fine  girls,  those  Governor's  daugh- 
ters," said  the  latter.  "  Chassford  is  engaged  to  one  of 
them,  and  Glendar  expects  the  other."  Richard  made  no 
reply. 

Richard  was  more  thoughtful  than  usual  after  tea  that 
night.  The  children  were  rampant  as  ever,  but  he  did 
not  seem  to  notice  them.  He  had  been  in  the  habit  of 
rocking  Bebby  to  sleep  in  his  arms.  She  climbed  into  his 
lap,  —  she  lay  on  one  shoulder,  then  tried  the  other;  nothing 
suited  her.  She  pointed  to  his  pocket  for  his  handkerchief, 
with  which  he  sometimes  cushioned  her  head ;  then  she 
pointed  to  the  mantel-piece  for  the  match-box,  which  she 
was  wont  to  go  to  sleep  upon,  holding  it  in  her  hands;  but 
he  did  not  attend  to  her ;  —  she  pulled  his  lips  for  him  to 
tell  her  a  story ;  he  did  not  answer ;  then  she  cried. 
"  She  wants  you  to  tell  her  a  story,"  said  Memmy.  Her 
mother  took  the  child  away.  "  You  are  getting  her  into 
very  bad  habits,"  she  said.  "  They  are  always  wanting 
things,  and  you  get  them."  She  pacified  the  child,  and  put 
it  to  bed. 

But  Richard  kept  on  thinking.  Munk  was  smoking  and 
reading,  his  sister  was  sewing,  and  he  thought.  His 
thoughts  went  down  into  the  neighborhood  of  his  feelings, 
and  his  feelings,  like  fishes  about  a  ship,  kept  edging  about 
his  thoughts.  He  feared  Chassford  and  Glendar  were  bad 
men.  He  believed  the  Governor's  daughters  were  the  best 
of  human  beings.  At  least,  if  he  never  imagined  so  much 
before,  it  seemed  to  him  so  now.  Set  off  against  bad  men, 
they  appeared  to  him  good,  very  good  indeed.    The  contrast 


212  RICHARD  EDNET,  ETC. 

broucrht  them  into  strong  relief, —  their  goodness  took  a 
most  palpable,  glorious  form  to  his  eye.  And  this  got  down 
into  his  heart  as  a  sort  of  divine  impression,  —  a  some- 
thing that  stirred  his  deepest  reverence,  —  and  he  could 
almost  worship  it. 

At  the  same  hour,  while  Richard  sat  by  the  stove  at 
Munk's  in  a  sort  of  brown  study,  Chassford  and  Glendar 
were  making  a  call  at  the  Governor's.  "  That  fellow,"  said 
Glendar,  alluding  to  Richard,  "  has  an  off-hand  way,  rather 
uncommon  among  his  class."  "  He  has  true  courtesy,"  re- 
plied MeUcent ;  "  the  transparency  of  a  gentle  heart  through 
a  gentle  demeanor."  "  He  is  a  strong  man,"  observed  Ros- 
coe,  "  a  very  strong  man."  "  Melicent  and  your  father  can 
judge  best  about  that,"  added  Madam,  looking  verj-  sharply 
at  a  needle  she  was  trying  to  thread  in  the  light  of  the 
candle.  "  I  mean,"  added  her  son,  "  he  is  very  strong  every 
w^ay."  "  His  demonstration  at  the  Abolition  meeting  was 
rather  weak,  —  rather  a  failure,"  answered  Chassford.  "  It 
was  superb,  —  perfectly  ecstatic  !  "  exclaimed  Barbara. 


CHAPTER    XVII. 

THOUBLE    IN    QUIET   ARBOR. 

Not  many  days  afterwards,  Richard  might  have  been 
seen,  at  mid-evening-,  in  close  conference  with  Nefon  at  the 
store  of  the  latter.  They  seemed  to  have  some  private 
scheme  in  hand.  What  it  was  will  better  appear  in  the 
history  of  its  execution.  Only  this  we  are  prepared  to  say, 
—  that  Nefon  was  a  great  friend  of  Temperance^  and  so 
was  Richard  ;  and  they  had  often  spoken  together  of  the 
increase  of  drunkenness,  and  the  means  of  quenching  that 
evil. 

They  left  the  store,  and  proceeded  to  a  building  in  which 
was  a  Hall  of  the  Sons  of  Temperance,  where  this  frater- 
nity were  then  in  session.  While  Richard  waited  on  the 
walk,  Nefon  ascended  to  the  Hall,  and  in  a  few  minutes 
returned  with  a  half-dozen  sturdy  Brothers,  in  their  wbite 
collars,  including  also  a  W.  P.,  with  his  scarlet  ensigns. 

Richard  led  them  forthwith  to  the  Pebbles,  on  the  shore 
of  which  Quiet  Arbor  was  snugly  located.  Leaving 
his  accomplices  at  the  door,  he  entered  this  sanctuary  alone. 
Waving  ceremony,  he  abruptly  accosted  the  obliging  but 
modest  head  of  the  establishment  in  these  words  :  —  "  You 
are  the  Friend  of  the  People  ? "  said  he,  interrogatively. 
"  I  am,"  responded  the  Timid  Man,  hacking.  "  You  are 
willing  they  should  be  befriended,  and  that  their  best  friends 
should  exert  themselves  for  them,  and  that  their  liberties 
should  be  achieved  ?  "     "I  am,"  he  hacked. 

Richard  opened  the  door,  and  the  six  Brothers  approached. 


214  EICHARD    EDNEY    AND 

"  These  are  the  Friends  of  the  People,"  he  said.  If 
another  flood  had  made  a  sudden  onslaught  on  his  bot- 
tles, Helskill  could  not  have  been  more  alarmed ;  but  he 
was  more  than  alarmed,  —  he  was  incensed;  he  set  his 
teeth,  and  he  set  his  eyes,  so  that  they  did  not  play  up  and 
down,  but  looked  straight  forwards.  But  there  the  white- 
robed  phalanx  was,  and  he  had  to  see  them,  and  receive 
them,  and  behave  as  mannerly  as  he  could  under  them ; 
and  when  he  tried  to  hack,  he  could  n't ;  and  when  he  had 
got  a  little  hack  half  way  up,  it  slipped  back,  in  spite  of  him. 

There  were  the  customary  tarriers  in  this  abode  of 
leisure ;  in  a  sort  of  mirage  of  smoke  and  dim  lamp-light, 
loomed  up  a  motley  group  of  shabby  beards,  slouched  hats, 
blub-cheeks  and  blistered  noses;  men,  who  looked  like  an 
old  sheet-iron  stove  that  has  been  burnt  out  and  dented  in ; 
men,  who  lay  coiled  up  in  their  repose,  as  a  grub  lies  in  the 
earth  ;  men,  some  of  whom  retained  the  power  of  capering 
about  in  that  soothing  atmosphere,  like  a  hog  in  a  snow-drift. 

Richard  proceeded  with  his  plot.  He  addressed  those 
men  :  "  Ye  are  slaves,"  said  he ;  "  slaves  to  your  appetites 
and  habits,  —  slaves  to  this  spot  and  this  hour,  —  slaves  to 
sin  and  shame  !  You  have  no  liberty  of  thought  or  of  feel- 
ing,—  none  of  money  or  of  time.  You  know  not  the  freedom 
of  health  or  of  strength,  —  you  have  no  independency  of 
hope  or  of  happiness.  You  propagate  the  evils  you 
suffer.  You,  Weasand,  have  enslaved  your  wife ;  you, 
Fuzzle,  have  broken  the  spirit  of  your  mother ;  you,  Horn, 
have  sent  your  family  to  the  Alms-house.  We  come 
to-night  to  give  you  liberty.  We  proclaim  your  freedom. 
We  have  brought  the  Temperance  Pledge.  Sign  this ; 
it  is  the  covenant  of  your  Redemption,  —  it  is  the  Con- 
stitution of  your  Independence."  "  Make  out  the  papers," 
cried  one.     "  Mr.  Nefon,"  said  Richard,  "  pass  the  pen  and 


THE    governor's    FAMILY.  215 

ink."  "  One  more  bouse,  and  I  '11  sign,"  exclaimed  an- 
other ;  "  a  stiff  one,  Helskill ;  I  must  wet  both  eyes,  for 
I  want  to  see  sharp  into  what  I  am  about,"  The  Tapster 
could  not.  so  far  overcome  his  friendly  feelings  as  not  to 
favor  the  man  in  this  his  last  request.  Emptying  the  glass 
to  the  dregs,  and  sweeping  his  lips  with  his  hand,  this  man 
advanced  to  the  table  and  wrote  his  name. 

"  Worthy  Patriarch,"  said  Nefon,  addressing  the  scarlet- 
robed  Brother,  "  witness  the  signatures." 

"I  am  so  infernally  drunk,  I  can't  sign,"  swore  a  third. 
"  Drunk  or  sober,  it  makes  no  difference,"  replied  Richard. 
"  All  sign  that  will  sign." 

"  If  I  could  get  up  there,  I  would  sign,"  jargled  one  from 
the  floor.  "  Brothers  Bisbee  and  Sloan,"  said  the  Patriarch, 
"  lift  up  Mr.  Fuzzle,  while  he  signs." 

"  I  can't  wTite,"  said  a  fourth.  "The  Worthy  Patriarch 
will  witness  his  mark,"  responded  Nefon. 

In  this  way  they  canvassed  the  entire  room.  "  Here  is 
one  too  stiff  to  stir,"  some  one  said.  "  Four  Brothers  cany 
him  to  the  Division  Room,"  enjoined  the  Chief,  "and 
thither  let  us  all  proceed."  These  Liberators,  with  their 
captives  to  freedom,  departed,  and  Richard  and  Nefon  were 
left  alone  with  the  Keeper  of  the  Arbor.  If  this  man  was 
surprised,  he  was  also  stunned.  That  his  guests  had  taken 
their  well-being  into  their  own  hands,  or  even  committed  it 
in  trust  to  the  Sons  of  Temperance,  was  a  fact  which  he 
could  not  gainsay,  and  a  virtue  that  he  dare  not  revile ; 
and  he  stood  behind  the  bar,  looking  like  one  who  had  just 
seen  his  grandmother's  ghost. 

Now  Nefon  was  tart  —  tarter  than  Richard  ;  and  he  longed 
to  rub  the  dram-monger's  ears  a  bit, just  in  an  easy  way; 
and  he  could  not  forbear  a  little  pleasantry,  even  if  there 
was  a  needle  at  the  point  of  it.     So  he  said,  "  Your  Arbor 


216  RICHARD   EDNEY    AND 

will  be  very  quiet  now,  —  still  as  a  nether  mill-stone  ;  and 
you  will  have  nothing  to  do  but  whirl  round  on  it,  and  grind 
out  your  meditations  at  your  leisure." 

He  had  better  not  have  said  this,  for  it  made  Helskill 
rflad,  veiy  mad ;  and  it  did  no  good.  Besides,  it  came 
near  frustrating  part  of  their  plan,  which  embraced  the 
Grotto.  Richard  tried  the  door  that  led  to  that  apartment, 
but  Helskill  sprang  forward  and  locked  it ;  and  Chuk-like, 
he  would  see  them,  and  himself,  and  the  whole  premises,  in 
the  ashes  of  perdition,  before  they  should  go  in. 

They  retreated  to  the  street.  "  There  is  a  private  en- 
trance," said  Richard,  "  and  we  will  find  it."  They  did 
find  it,  and  went  in,  and  were  hazed  in  a  labyrinth  of  pas- 
sages and  darkness.  The  little  Bookseller  might  have  been 
frightened,  but  he  was  not.  "  We  are  in  for  a  job,"  said  he, 
"  and  for  a  broken  head,  for  all  I  know.  I  could  not  have 
done  this  yesterday.  I  am  warm,  very  warm;  and  we 
must  strike  while  the  iron  is  hot." 

They  felt  their  way  onwards,  and  at  length  came  to  the 
door  of  the  wizard-room.  They  entered  quite  abruptly; 
and  their  arrival  seemed  to  betoken  unusual  pertinence. 
The  occupants  of  the  room,  —  Captain  Creamer,  Chassford, 
Glendar,  Tunny  and  the  Sailmaker, —  felt  this.  The  Cap- 
tain glavered,  the  Sailmaker  blustered;  Glendar,  leaning 
over  the  table,  shuffled  cards  very  vacantly.  Tunny,  — 
what  did  he  do,  what  could  he  do,  when  there  was  so  little 
left  of  him  the  night  before  ?  If  he  could  have  vanished,  he 
would ;  but  he  had  to  be  there,  or  let  his  shadow  be  there,  and 
take  what  might  befall. 

"I  am  indebted  to  you,  Sir,"  Richard  said,  addressing 
the  Captain;  "you  gave  me  occupation  when  I  was  a 
stranger  in  the  place.  As  your  servant,  I  might  hesitate 
in  what  I  am  now  upon.     But  there  is  a  higher  relation 


THE   governor's   FAMILY.  217 

between  us  than  that  of  employer  and  employed,  —  the 
relation  of  humanity,  of  Christian  fidelity.  And  this  obliges 
me  to  say  that  you  are  in  a  bad  way.  These  practices  are 
destructive  of  all  that  you  value  in  life,  or  that  you  would 
have  me  value.  I  shall  not  take  advantage  of  what  has 
come  to  my  knowledge ;  but  I  must  affectionately,  and  very 
positively,  admonish  you." 

The  Captain,  for  once  in  his  life,  lost  his  self-posses- 
sion, his  gay  ease,  his  oily  grace  ;  and  he  seemed  in  an  in- 
stant to  sink  into  his  proper  age,  and  reiippear  in  the  furrows 
and  the  palsy  of  an  old  man.  He  stammered,  and  tripped ; 
and,  with  Glendar  and  Chassford,  hastily  left  the  room. 

The  Sailmaker  was  not  to  be  interrupted ;  he  had  got 
too  valuable  a  prey  in  his  clutches  to  admit  a  rival.  He 
declaimed  against  interference,  —  he  snuffed  at  this  med- 
dling with  other  folks'  business,  —  he  fanfaronaded  on  sen- 
timental benevolence.  "  I  do  not  mind  that,"  replied  Eich- 
ard  ;  "  but  you  must  give  up  Tunny." 

"  Any  man  that  comes  between  me  and  Tunny  is  a  dead 
man ! " 

"  I  am  between  you  and  Tunny ;  and  I  am  alive,  and  tol- 
erably well,  "  rejoined  Richard.  "  Tunny,"  he  added,  "  go 
home."  There  was  so  slender  a  remnant  of  the  Grocer  on 
hand  that  it  did  not  seem  to  hear,  —  it  lay  passively  in  the 
chair.  The  Sailmaker  stooped  to  seize  it.  Richard  elbowed 
him  off.  "  Go  home.  Tunny,"  he  repeated,  in  a  still  louder 
voice.  Nefon  took  the  relic  by  the  arm,  and  led  it  to  the 
door.  •'  I  will  have  it  out  of  you,  body  and  soul,  for  this  ! " 
added  the  Sailmaker.  Richard  and  Nefon  supported  Tunny 
to  his  house. 

The   Sailmaker  sought  to  be  as  good  as  his  word.     He 
came  to  the  Mill  and  detained  Richard  one  noon  after  the 
bell  had  rung  the  others  to  dinner. 
19 


218  RICHARD    EDNEY    AJfD 

"  I  demand  satisfaction  for  what  you  have  done  !  "  he  said. 
"I  will  give  it,"  replied  Eichard;  "what  shall  it  be?" 
"  One  of  us  must  die! "  he  answered,  with  an  emphasis  of 
pathos  and  frenzy.  "  Not  so  bad  as  that,  I  hope,"  rejoined 
Richard.  "Just  as  bad,"  said  the  other.  "Choose  your 
weapons,  and  your  own  way."  "  Very  well,"  answered 
Richard,  "  and  prepare  yourself  to  meet  an  antagonism  that 
comes  with  weapons  not  carnal,  but  spiritual."  "  You  cant- 
ing hypocrite,  you  !  "  sneered  the  Sailmaker  ;  "  sliverly  cow- 
ard !  you  mean  to  avoid  me,  —  you  mean  to  hush  away ! 
You  won't  do  it,  —  you  are  too  late  for  it !  "  He  drew  a  dirk, 
which  he  might  have  done  mischief  with  ;  but  Richard  took 
it  from  him,  and  breaking  the  blade,  threw  the  fragments 
into  the  wheel-pit. 

The  Sailmaker,  slackening  in  physical  rage,  calmed  down 
to  argument.  "  You  do  not  know,"  said  he,  "what  I  have 
endured.  It  is  not  Tunny's  money  I  want;  it  is  revenge. 
I  scorn  him  and  his  dust.  But  his  family  have  insulted 
me,  —  his  wife  has  planted  her  flat-footed  pride  on  me, 
his  son  has  lost  all  recollection  of  me,  because  I  am  a  Sail- 
maker,—  because  I  am  what  my  father  was  before  me. 
Who  are  they  but  mangy  skip-jacks,  half-baked  upper 
crusts  ?  Did  n't  Tunny  drive  a  fish-cart  ?  Has  n't  he  toot- 
ed his  carrion  by  our  own  door  ?  " 

Richard  replied,  "  My  friend,  I  think  I  understand  you, — 
I  believe  I  know  to  what  you  refer,  and  I  may  be  deeper  in 
the  secret  of  your  affairs  than  you  are  yourself." 

"  How  is  that  ?  "  eagerly  asked  the  other. 

"  You  allude  to  a  disruption  of  intimacy  between  your- 
self and  their  daughter,  Faustina."  "  I  do,"  answered  the 
other.  "  Well,  let  me  tell  you,"  continued  Richard,  "  that 
was  not  owing  to  your  birth  or  vocation,  but  to  your  habits." 

"  'T  is  false  ! "  answered  the  Sailmaker.     "  Mrs.  Tunny 


THE    governor's    FAMILY.  219 

forbade  my  visiting  her  daughter.  She  said  my  hands 
soiled  the  door  when  I  entered.     I  heard  her  say  so." 

"That  may  be,"  responded  Ricliard;  "but  Faustina 
never  said  so,  did  she  ?  " 

"  Is  there  any  hope  for  me  with  her  ?  If  there  be,  I  do 
not  mind  a  farthing  that  soap-bubble  of  a  mother." 

"There  may  be,"  said  Richard,  "for  all  that  I  know. 
But,  in  my  opinion,  all  depends  on  one  thing." 

"  What  is  that  ?  " 

"  That  you  repent  of  your  sins,  —  that  you  reform  your 
manner  of  life,  and  by  God's  grace  renovate  your  spirit. 
Avoid  the  haunts  of  vice ;  consort  with  what  is  good  and 
pure,  and  come  to  appear,  and  to  be,  a  new  man." 

"I  will  think  of  what  you  say,"  replied  the  young  man. 


CHAPTER    XVIII. 

THE    JUNE    FRESHET. 

So  it  was  denominated,  because  it  commonly  happened 
in  that  month ;  but  it  sometimes  anticipated  its  period.  In 
this  instance,  it  was  announced  about  the  middle  of  May. 

This  flood  was  both  spring-time  and  harvest  for  log-driv- 
ers, boom-gatherers,  and  lumber-men  generally.  The  gates 
of  the  Lake  were  opened,  and  vast  deposits  of  logs  that 
had  been  accumulating  on  that  invvooded  realm  of  ice 
during  the  winter  were  turned  into  the  River.  Gangs  of 
men  were  despatched  to  break  up  the  jams  that  formed 
on  shoals  and  rips.  Others  scoured  the  banks  of  tributa- 
ries, and  launched  whatever  logs  they  could  find  into  the 
current. 

A  portion  of  these  logs,  unlike  their  predecessor,  the  ice, 
were  retained  above  the  Dam ;  yet  many  thousands  must 
attempt  that  pass,  and  be  hurried  across  the  Harbor,  and 
through  the  Narrows. 

Now  little  boats  are  seen  darting  out  from  the  shore,  syl- 
van buccaneers, in  chase  of  their  prey;  each  manned  by  two 
men — one  to  row,  the  other  to  strike  the  picaroon.  Where 
was  Chuk  ?  What  should  poor  Chuk  do,  all  alone  ?  The 
water  was  very  smooth  and  still  where  he  operated,  and  his 
boom  was  sheltered  in  as  quiet  a  little  nook  as  the  whole 
stream  afforded  ;  indeed,  it  was  generally  conceded  by  those 
whose  habits  would  render  them  competent  to  form  an  opin- 
ion in  the  premises,  that  Bill  Stonners'  privilege  was  one  of 
the  best  in  the  County. 

The  Boy  made  his  picaroon  fast  to  his  boat  with  a  rope, 


RICHARD    EDNEY,    ETC.  221 

and  then  put  into  the  stream,  with  the  double  office  of  row- 
ing and  striking.  He  cried  when  he  did  so,  —  cried  like  a 
spoiled  child.  He  had  nobody  to  swear  at,  and  nobody  to 
swear  at  him,  —  and  he  cried.  There,  under  the  shadow  of 
the  rock  that  formed  the  shoulder  of  the  Point,  and  of  the 
great  trees  that  overhang  it,  and  under  the  blue  sky,  and 
over  the  clear  sky-and-rock-and-tree-embosoming  deep,  he 
wept  while  he  worked;  and  there  Mysie,  whose  broad, 
gaunt  form  stood  folded  and  calm  on  the  high  shore,  saw 
him  weep  as  he  paddled  in  and  out,  and  never  looked  up ; 
striking  and  trailing  all  alone,  without  Bill,  and  with  nothing 
in  the  wide  world  to  comfort  him. 

The  logs  swept  over  the  Dam  just  as  the  ice  had  done, 
and  people  came  to  the  Saw-mills,  and  stood  on  the  shores 
to  see  the  feat,  just  as  they  did  before.  The  logs,  with  the 
bark  bruised  off  and  the  ends  "  broomed  "  up,  by  reason  of  the 
roughness  of  their  passage,  —  some  of  them  discolored  and 
black,  from  long  exposure  in  the  shallows,  —  many  of  them 
large,  now  and  then  one  six  feet  in  diameter,  —  were  the 
monsters  of  this  deep.  They  slid  tranquilly  and  gracefully 
down  the  swift,  limpid  fall.  But  now  their  danger  com- 
menced. They  must  seethe  in  the  "  boil,"  and  be  absorbed 
by  the  undertow.  Descending  to  the  bed  of  the  stream, 
they  rebounded,  and  leaped  into  the  air.  Some,  forty  feet 
long,  and  weighing  four  or  five  tons,  were  tossed  like  can- 
dles ;  the  water  played  with  them  on  the  ends  of  its  fingers, 
as  a  juggler  manoeuvres  with  a  broom-stick.  They  thrashed 
about  as  if  they  were  the  arms  of  a  giant,  who  was  strang- 
ling underneath.  They  would  be  piled  one  upon  another, 
drawn  under  the  fall,  and  then  spurned  into  the  hideous 
regions  below.  Still  afloat,  —  still  struggling  to  escape. 
One,  that  had  got  away,  as  it  supposes,  into  clear  water,  is 
deliberately  drawn  back ;  a  second  one  tumbles  upon  it  from 
19* 


222  KICHARD    EDNEV   AND 

above;  a  third,  rising  from  beneath,  forces  their  groaning, 
aching,  battered  bodies  into  fresh  catastrophes.  In  this 
commotion  hundreds  are  engaged  at  the  same  moment.  In 
a  light  mood,  you  would  imagine  them  whales  or  porpoises 
at  their  gambols,  or  beach-bathers  rolling  in  the  surf. 
They  might  seem  to  you  instinct  with  a  certain  life,  v/hich 
was  to  be  acted  out  in  that  spot.  A  more  terrific  suggestion 
is  that  of  humanity  arrested  in  its  progress,  and  Faith,  Hope 
and  Charity,  writhing  in  the  cataract  of  evil,  —  springing  to 
regain  a  serener  surface,  and  yet  at  every  instant  over- 
powered by  a  relentless  destiny  ;  or  of  a  single  heart,  stricken 
by  calamity,  panting,  pleading  to  be  free,  yet  doomed  to  an 
irrevocable  anguish. 

But  this  did  not  propose  to  be  a  dramatic  spectacle  of  ad- 
miration or  of  terror ;  it  had  more  serious  matter  in  hand. 
There  was  a  weak  spot  in  the  Dam.  So  the  Man  of  Mind 
in  the  city  said.  He  whispered  it  to  newspaper  editors ;  he 
wrote  information  to  the  Dam  Corporation  about  it;  he 
nudged  it  to  the  Sax^'^'ers  and  the  Log-drivers ;  he  nodded 
it  to  himself,  as  he  walked  past  the  Dam.  Some  people  be- 
lieved him.  It  got  to  the  ears  of  the  logs,  and  they  would 
see  if  it  were  so.  In  their  submergence,  like  prisoners  in  a 
dungeon,  they  found  out  the  defect  in  the  walls,  and  ma- 
tured a  plan  for  breaking  through.  Certain  of  the  stoutest 
of  them,  rearing  concertedly  their  enormous  shafts,  fell, 
battering-ram  fashion,  on  the  structure  that  detained  them. 
One  broke  the  cross-ties;  another  dislodged  the  ballast-stones; 
several,  diving  out  of  sight,  unearthed  the  foundations  ;  and, 
before  any  one  but  the  Man  of  Mind  saw  it,  the  erection 
gave  way  —  the  bulwark  of  the  River  fell.  These  resolute 
logs  did  not  enter  the  breach  they  made,  but,  having  effected 
their  object,  they  sailed  tauntingly  awaJ^  In  an  hour  the 
entire  pond  was  drained  to  the  natural  level  of  the  stream. 


THE    governor's    FAMILY.  ^23 

One  way,  it  seemed,  to  get  out  of  difficulty;  one  way  for 
Hopes  and  Hearts  to  liberate  themselves,  —  turn,  full-butt, 
on  the  evil  that  beleaguers  them  ! 

The  Man  of  Mind  stood  immovable  and  frowning,  and 
pointed  to  the  spot;  and  as  they  ran  from  all  quarters  to 
see  what  had  happened,  he  seemed  to  have  the  entire  popu- 
lation of  the  city  on  his  finger's  end,  and  they  went  just 
where  his  finger  directed,  and  believed  just  what  his  finger 
indicated;  and  as  he  stood,  immovable  and  frowning,  everj'- 
body  was  abashed  by  him,  as  a  man  of  mind,  and  gave  it 
up  that  he  was  a  man  of  mind. 

But  the  Mill-owners  and  the  Factory-companies  cared 
nothing  for  minds ;  they  wanted  water.  Their  canal  was 
emptied,  and  their  wheels  were  silent  in  the  pit.  The 
work-folk  were  dismissed.  It  would  take  three  weeks  or  a 
month  to  effect  repairs. 

But  the  people,  whose  employment  failed  so  suddenly, 
did  not  grumble,  so  far  as  we  heard.  The  girls  would  have 
a  vacation,  and  visit  their  friends  ;  Mr.  Gouch  and  his  family 
would  not  starve,  for  he  had  a  little  laid  by  for  a  rainy  or  an 
idle  day.  More  than  all,  the  indomitableness  of  "  our  peo- 
ple "  would  be  exhibited.  The  wounds  of  Young  America 
heal  quick.  A  breach  in  a  mill-dam,  —  fie!  it  is  no  more 
than  a  bird-track  through  our  incalculable  sky.  Then  there 
were  repairs  in  the  Mills  that  would  occupy  a  number  of 
hands.  Tunny  felt  bad,  because  such  an  event  dispersed 
his  customers.  But  Chuk  was  as  large  a  sufferer  as  any. 
His  boom  was  ruined ;  the  sudden  cessation  of  the  water 
carried  it  off,  logs  and  all.  He  and  Mysie  held  on  to  the 
guys,  and  retarded  the  catastrophe,  by  main  strength,  as 
long  as  they  could ;  but  when  nought  availed,  and  the  fabric 
of  his  heart  and  hope  was  being  swept  into  the  rapid  cur- 
rent, he  flung  his  paddles  into  the  boat,  and  sent  that  down 


224  RICHARD   EDNEY   AND 

too.  Mysie  was  only  afraid  he  would  follow  suit  himself, 
and  clenched  his  arm  to  prevent  such  a  piece  of  folly. 

Richard  was  at  work  in  the  Mill  when  these  things  took 
place.  There  Avere  ladies  there,  and  Melicent  and  Barbara. 
Eichard,  cant-dog  in  hand,  would  now  and  then  go  to  the 
door  and  look  at  the  logs,  and  exchange  a  syllable  with  his 
new  acquaintance.  But  Captain  Creamer,  who,  however 
he  might  behave  at  the  Grotto,  was,  reasonably,  master  on 
his  own  premises,  deemed  Richard  too  young  to  have  much 
to  do  with  the  ladies,  kept  him  engaged  in  fresh  tasks,  and, 
as  if  he  himself  was  of  an  age  when  such  conversation 
would  be  harmless,  he  monopolized  it  altogether. 

When  the  accident  was  announced,  it  appeared  that  even 
this  sort  of  intimacy  had  not  softened  the  Captain ;  he 
stormed  at  his  men.  The  saw  was  half  through  the  middle 
run,  and  it  seemed  as  if  he  would  make  them  urge  it  to  the 
foot  by  their  own  strength  of  arm. 

Of  course,  Richard  and  all  hands  were  afloat,  as  well  as 
Chuk's  boom.  The  Captain  said  they  would  not  expect 
wages  to  go  on  when  nothing  was  doing,  and  when  he,  per- 
haps, might  find  himself  a  ruined  man  to-morrow.  Of 
course  they  would  not.  They  put  on  their  coats,  and  went 
home. 

INIunk  had  employment  for  Richard  at  the  stable ;  in  fact, 
his  brother-in-law  could  be  of  real  use  to  him.  The  steam- 
boats and  rail-roads  were  running,  and  people  were  hasten- 
ing to  overtake  them,  and  these  people  must  have  horses; 
so  that  Munk  &  St.  John's  business  was  good.  Their 
business  depended  on  that  of  the  world  at  large,  and  this 
was  good.  The  stable  was  neat  as  a  penny,  with  its  white- 
washed walls  and  well-swept  floor.  Each  horse  had  his 
name  fairly  inscribed  above  his  stall ;  there  were  Fly,  Black 
Maria,  Beau  Savage,  Belle  Fanny,  and  many  more.     A 


THE    GOVEKNOR's    FAMILY.  225 

small  office  was  attached  to  the  establishment,  where  hung 
the  harnesses  and  whips,  all  in  Primlico  style.  Here,  also, 
was  a  stove,  and  a  bunk  where  the  boy,  Simon,  slept.  Into 
this  office  a  newspaper  was  dropped  every  morning.  Mr.  St. 
John,  the  partner,  was  a  nice  man,  and  Simon  was  a  clever 
boy.  Simon  had  an  interesting  peculiarity.  It  was  the 
snatch  of  a  song  he  sung,  that  went  thus  :  "  O,  the  break 
down,  oh;  O,  the  break  down!"  He  sung  this  when  he 
groomed  the  horses,  and  when  he  swept  the  stable ;  when 
the  carriages  came  in,  and  when  they  went  out ;  indeed,  at 
all  times.  What  it  meant,  nobody  could  tell.  It  passed  as 
a  mystery  of  human  nature.  Moreover,  "Winkle  appeared 
every  other  afternoon,  with  his  four  horses  all  a-reek  with 
perspiration,  and  his  face  a-reek  with  good-nature. 

There  was  in  the  stable  a  rare  animal.  Belle  Fanny: 
so  sleek  a  skin,  so  arched  a  neck,  so  bright  and  cheer- 
ful a  countenance,  such  fleetness  of  foot,  and  gentleness  of 
spirit,  were  not  often  the  perquisites  of  a  single  horse ;  but 
they  were  hers.  How  readily  she  started ;  how  freely  she 
moved ;  how  quick  to  stop ;  how  easy  to  turn !  —  and  with 
her  never  shying  or  stumbling,  she  was  a  wonder.  Then  the 
little  wagon  that  belonged  to  her,  —  what  an  equipage 
was  that !  Ho !  Memmy  and  Bebby  will  ride  to-day. 
Queen  Elizabeth,  when  she  started  on  her  Progresses,  —  the 
green  and  blue  Chariot-races  of  ancient  Byzantium,  —  are 
nothing  compared  with  the  excitement  got  up  when  these 
young  Imperialnesses  went  abroad. 

We  forbear  to  describe  the  ride.  We  can  only  say,  the 
weather  was  pleasant ;  the  roads  were  good ;  the  grass  was 
green ;  the  birds  were  songful ;  and  Uncle  Richard  never 
was  happier,  nor  the  children  either. 

Sometimes  Richard  drove  the  hack  to  the  wharves  and 


226  niCHARD   EDNEY    AND 

the  depot;  sometimes  he  went  on  family  and  social  excur- 
sions with  the  omnibus. 

Munk  had  a  garden,  which  Richard  spaded  and  sowed. 
Munk's  lot  extended  from  the  street  to  the  River,  and  com- 
prised a  quarter  of  an  acre.  This  Richard  resolved  to  orna- 
ment and  improve.  He  applied  to  the  woods  in  the 
neighborhood,  where  were  all  varieties  of  evergreen  and 
perdifoil.  He  knew  how  to  dig  deeply  round  the  trees,  to 
sever  the  roots  carefully,  and  prune  the  tops  judiciously.  He 
was  thoughtful  enough,  also,  to  choose  a  humid  day  for 
this  operation.  He  studied  grouping  and  curves  in  the 
arrangement  of  the  trees.  He  supplied  their  roots  with 
well-rotted  manure.  Against  the  kitchen  window,  where 
was  the  sink,  and  Roxy  did  her  work,  and  the  summer  sun 
burned  like  an  oven,  he  planted  a  good-sized  maple.  He 
ploughed  and  graded  the  rear  portion  of  the  lot,  and  laid 
it  down  to  grass.  He  induced  his  brother  to  purchase  a 
quantit}'-  of  fruit-trees,  for  which  he  discovered  an  abundance 
of  suitable  locations.  On  the  River-side  of  the  estate  was  a 
gully  tufted  with  willows  and  alders,  and  vocal  with  birds, 
where  also  flourished  a  willow  of  remarkable  size.  Hence 
he  called  the  place  Willow  Croft. 

Was  Richard  in  advance  of  his  age  and  rank  in  this  ? 
He  may  have  been  :  but  he  was  not  in  advance  of  the  news- 
papers, nor  of  Pastor  Harold,  to  say  nothing  of  his  own 
taste. 

Then,  as  if  he  had  purposely  designed  that  we  should 
write  his  history,  how  much  prettier  it  is  to  say  Willow 
Croft,  than  Munk's,  or  his  Brother-in-law's.  I  think  there 
is  no  person  of  refinement  who  will  not  rejoice  in  the  new 
terminology. 

He  had  assistance  ;  —  Mysie  and  Chuk  volunteered  their 
services.     There   was  not,   probably   a  clean-bodied,    fair- 


THE    governor's    FAMILY.  227 

topped  staddle  within  six  miles,  that  Mysie  had  not  talren 
particular  note  of.  Then  she  recollected  a  thorn  that  she  had 
seen  in  its  full  snow-bloom,  and  when  it  dripped  with  red 
apples ;  and  she  thought  there  was  nothing  so  handsome  in 
the  whole  world,  and  Richard  must  have  it.  Chuk  dug, 
and  pulled,  and  lifted,  with  amazing  good-will. 

But  the  Boy  would  take  no  pay.  He  seemed  to  recog- 
nize no  other  cun'ency  than  that  of  the  River;  he  made  all 
his  drafts  with  the  picaroon ;  the  use  of  the  spade  was  real 
bankruptcy  to  him ;  and  Richard  had  behaved  so  wickedly 
at  the  Point,  Chuk  deemed  his  tender  of  money  a  sacrilege 
on  the  memory  of  Bill  and  the  boom ;  and  even  his  thanks 
he  rejected  as  a  device  of  the  adversar}^ 

But  Chuk  got  his  pay,  and  Richard  took  his  receipt,  in 
the  children,  who  applauded  what  was  done,  and  conde- 
scended to  disport  amid  the  trees;  Bebby  indicated  her 
royal  interest  in  the  scene  by  upsetting  one  of  the  shrubs. 

Chuk,  as  if  he  had  inhaled  magic  gas,  began  to  frolic 
with  the  children;  he  acted  as  if  he  were  a  mere  child,  and 
had  never  been  anything  else.  He  keeled  over  on  the  grass, 
peeked  through  the  trees,  cock-a -whooped  to  Uncle  Richard, 
strutted  behind  Bebby.  "  This,"  said  he,  "  is  it:  it  was  just 
so,  then  —  there  was  toddling  and  skirling;  it  huv  stones,  it 
rolled  in  the  dirt.  But  where  is  the  woman  with  the  blue 
tire  and  the  lasses  cake  ?  "  He  repeated  this  question,  and 
turned  towards  the  door  of  the  house  a  wild,  haggard  stare. 
He  presented  a  comical,  not  to  say  pitiable  picture;  — 
bare-headed,  with  long,  tangled  black  hair,  in  the  native  lux- 
uriance of  which  neither  comb  nor  shears  had  interfered 
for  many  a  month,  and  a  voluminous  pepper-and-salt  shirt, 
that  flared  wide  in  the  neck. 

Roxy  appeared  in  the  door  with  a  dry  lunch  in  either 
hand  for  the  children.     "  That  is  the  woman  with  the  blue 


228  RICHARD    EDNET,  ETC. 

tire  and  the  lasses  cake  !  "  shouted  Chuk,  and  ran  forward 
with  the  children,  flapping  his  arms  like  a  new-fledged 
chicken,  to  receive  what  the  good  dame  would  bestow, 

Richard  noticed,  during  this  metamorphosis  of  the  Boy, 
that  he  dropped  his  customary  oaths,  and  that  his  tone  was 
milder,  and  his  language  less  rough  and  churlish,  than  at 
other  times. 


CHAPTER    XIX. 

VIOLET    DIES, 

Richard  was  laying  out  his  vegetable  beds  one  morning, 
and  the  children  were  to  their  knees  and  elbows  in  dirt,  pre- 
paring for  baking,  —  moulding  pie-crust,  stirring  puddings, 
cupping  cakes,  out  of  the  damp  earth.  Looking  towards 
the  street,  he  saw  the  Old  Man,  the  Grandfather  of  the  Or- 
phans, urgently  bent  upon  something,  as  it  were  star-gazing, 
—  now  lifting  his  face  into  the  air,  now  peering  across  the 
fields,  anon  putting  his  hand  to  his  ear.  Advancing  to  the 
gate  of  Willow  Croft,  he  entered  it,  and  came  with  an  ex- 
cited step  towards  the  garden.  "  Did  you  not  hear  it?  Did 
you  not  see  it  ?  "  said  he  to  Richard.  "  My  eyes  and  ears 
are  trying  to  cheat  me  out  of  it,  because  I  am  an  old  man ; 
but  I  am  too  old  for  them."  "  What  is  it  ?  "  asked  Richard. 
"  The  hang-bird,"  he  replied.  "  I  see  it !  "  said  Memmy, 
whose  eyes  were  sharp  as  a  razor,  pointing  with  the  bit  of 
a  shingle  she  was  at  work  with  ;  "  it  is  there  on  the  fence." 
"  That  is  a  robin,"  answered  Richard.  "  No,"  said  the  Old 
Man,  "  it  is  a  hang-bird.  I  have  been  out  every  morning 
after  it.  I  know  its  trump.  It  carried  off  her  mother,  and 
now  it  has  come  for  her." 

Aunt  Grint,  who  was  making  an  early  morning  call  on 
Roxy,  overhearing  the  conversation,  appeared,  exclaiming, 
"  Sakes  alive !  what  is  going  to  happen  now?  Death  every- 
where, —  death  all  around  us,  and  who  is  ready  ?  " 

"  Did  you  see  it  ?  "  asked  the  Old  Man. 

"  See  it !  "  she  recoilingly  answered.    "  How  can  you  see 
it,  when  a  body  is  frightened  to  death  hearing  it  ? " 
20 


230  EICHAED   EDNEY   AND 

"Which  way  ?"  eagerly  inquired  the  other. 

"  It  has  n't  any  way.  It  is  the  most  invisiblest  thing  that 
ever  was.     You  look  right  where  it  is,  and  it  ain't  there." 

"  I  heard  it  in  the  lot." 

"  Pshaw  !  "  she  exclaimed,  "  you  can't  hear  it  in  the  lot; 
it  is  in  the  chamber.  It  was  there  just  before  our  Roseltha 
died.  I  heard  it  last  night.  God  have  mercy  on  us  !  what 
is  a  coming?    O  I  " 

"  There  it  is  on  the  tree  !  "  said  Memmy.  And  Bebby 
knew  it  was  there ;  she  could  see  it,  and  she  screeched 
at  it. 

"  For  the  love  of  heaven's  sake ! "  cried  Aunt  Grint, 
"  don't  be  noisy  such  a  time  as  this.  Who  knows  but  what 
it  may  be  one  of  the  children  ?  " 

"  It  was  a  hangbird,"  said  the  Old  Man. 

"  No,  it  was  n't,"  rejoined  Aunt  Grint ;  "don't  you  sup- 
pose I  should  know,  when  I  sat  up  in  bed  half  an  hour,  a 
hearing  it  ?  And  there  the  wretch  kept  at  it  on  the  left 
wall,  right  over  my  shoulder,  and  none  of  us  prepared.  It 
was  a  death-watch,  as  I  was  telling  Roxy.  O !  the  poor 
children  !  " 

"  I  would  not  talk  in  this  way  here.  Aunt,"  said  Rich- 
ard. "  Such  ideas  can  do  the  children  no  good.  It  maybe 
you  are  both  right.  This  man's  granddaughter  is  very 
sick,  and  I  have  not  thought  she  could  live  long." 

They  were  both  right.  Death  was  near ;  Violet  was 
dying. 

That  afternoon  there  were  assembled  about  the  final  bed- 
side of  the  Orphan,  Dr.  Broadwell,  the  Denningtons,  the 
Lady  Caroline,  Richard,  Miss  Eyre,  and  one  or  two  other 
girls  from  the  Factories.  The  Grandfather  held  the  hand 
of  the  dying  one,  and  seemed  to  be  counting  the  pulses,  as 
if  he  had  precisely  calculated  the  last  one.     Junia  leaned 


THE    governor's    FAMILY.  2fil 

over  the  pillow  of  her  sister.  Kespiration  waxed  rarer  and 
fainter,  and  all  was  over. 

Dr.  Broadwell  said,  "Our  friend,  we  have  every  reason  to 
believe,  has  gone  to  her  rest.  She  has  been  received  by  her 
Saviour.  She  gave  good  evidence  of  reconciliation,  and  a 
spiritual  life,  during  the  few  months  that  I  have  been  ac- 
quainted with  her.  When  our  last  hour  shall  come,  may  it 
find  us  as  prepared  as  she  was." 

From  every  eye  gushed  the  silent,  irrepressible  tear  ;  every 
bosom  heaved  with  the  tenderness  of  funereal  anguish.  The 
Old  Man,  now  that  his  watchings,  his  predictions,  his  little 
duties  were  ended,  and  all  that  he  had  so  carefully  planned 
was  so  entirely  fulfilled,  and  there  was  nothing  left,  moaned, 
and  wept,  and  trembled;  —  forlorn  decrepitude,  bereft  of 
its  staff,  bereft  of  all  on  which  its  heart  or  its  limbs  could 
lean  !     Junia  supported  herself  in  Melicent's  arms. 

It  is,  in  common  language,  hard  parting.  However  joyous 
or  certain  may  be  Immortality ;  however  undesirable,  in  any 
instance,  may  be  the  prolongation  of  this  earthly  existence  ; 
however  certified  we  are  of  the  salvable  condition  of  our 
friends,  —  still,  it  is  hard  parting.  Not  the  immediate  pros- 
pect of  Heaven,  not  the  presence  of  the  Angel  of  Bliss,  can 
prevent  the  bitterness  of  emotion.  We  weep  from  sympa- 
thy, and  we  weep  from  sorrow ;  and  sympathy  makes  the 
sorrow  of  many  one.  In  a  moment,  as  by  electric  com- 
munication, all  hearts  coalesce;  and  Miss  Eyre  wept  as 
purely,  as  deeply,  as  Barbara. 

It  is  hard  parting :  the  cessation,  the  giving  over,  the 
farewell,  the  last  view;  the  absence,  the  being  gone  ;  nothing 
for  the  eye  to  look  upon,  or  the  hand  to  feel,  or  the  tongue 
to  speak  to ;  the  withdrawal  of  the  spirit,  the  burial  of  the 
body ;  the  silence,  and  the  lonesomeness. 

It  is  hard  parting :  the  room  is  bereft,  the  table  is  bereft; 


232  RICHARD   EDNET   AND 

old  clothes  and  old  utensils  are  bereft ;  the  trees  are  stripped, 
the  landscape  is  lonely.  There  is  a  ceasing  to  talk,  when 
the  thought  is  full ;  a  ceasing  to  think,  when  the  heart  is  full ; 
a  ceasing  to  inquire  and  to  communicate ;  a  ceasing  to  gather 
reminiscences  and  to  revive  attachments.  The  subject  is 
gradually  dropped  from  speech,  and  from  letters ;  dropped 
from  the  countenance  and  the  manner;  it  passes  into  an 
allusion,  it  withdraws  from  the  world,  it  cloisters  itself  in 
the  eternal  sensations  of  the  loving  soul. 

It  is  hard  parting :  —  but  it  is  not  all  parting,  —  there  is  a 
going,  too ;  there  is  an  elevation  of  spirit,  as  well  as  depres- 
sion of  the  flesh.  The  parting  takes  us  along  with  it.  It 
raises  us  from  the  limitable  to  the  Illimitable.  It  gives  to 
Faith  its  province,  and  to  Hope  its  destiny.  Beyond  this 
vale  of  tears,  our  friends  await  us  in  the  eternal  Bloom ! 

It  is  hard  parting ;  —  but  there  is  a  remaining,  too.  AU 
does  not  go.  There  are  blessed  memories  and  sweet  relics 
still  in  our  hands,  still  sleeping  on  our  bosoms,  still  sitting 
by  the  fireside,  still  coming  in  at  the  door.  Beauty,  Holi- 
ness, Love,  are  never  sick;  for  them  is  no  funeral  bell. 
That  face  visits  us  in  our  reveries  when  we  wish  to  be  all 
alone  with  it ;  an  Ascended  face,  it  shines  on  our  despond- 
ency, and  smiles  on  our  love  ;  it  peoples  the  solitude  with  a 
sacred  invisibility ;  it  introduces  us  to  the  realm  of  the  de- 
parted, to  converse  with  spirits  —  to  commune  with  saints. 
The  medium  between  us  and  the  dead  is  a  purifying  one. 
It  cleanses  the  character ;  we  see  nothing  bad  in  what  is 
gone ;  there  is  no  remembrance  any  more  of  sin ;  we  are 
ravished  by  virtues  perhaps  too  late  recognized ;  we  adore 
where  we  once  hardly  tolerated ;  —  a  departed  friend  is 
always  an  image  of  pure  crystal. 

And  the  body,  the  transient  tabernacle,  the  clayey  tene- 
ment, has  its  wonderful  mission.     It  hastens  to  repair  the 


THE  governor's  FAMILY.  233 

rent  in  our  hearts,  by  its  look  of  angelic  peace  ;  as,  in  the  for- 
est, a  prostrate  tree  hides  its  decay  in  a  vesture  of  green 
moss,  so  the  body  endues  the  pain  and  the  waste  of  sickness 
with  an  expression  of  health  and  repose. 

When  the  last  agony  was  over,  the  features  of  Violet 
resumed  their  wonted  composure ;  —beautifully  on  the 
pale  cheek  lay  the  long,  silken  eye-lashes ;  on  thin  lips 
flickered  a  smile,  as  it  were  a  shadow  reflected  from  the  as- 
cending, beatified  spirit.  The  Lady  Caroline  crossed  over 
the  silent  breast  the  lily  hands,  and  smoothed  on  the  fore- 
head the  flaxen  hair ;  and  the  well-defined  eyebrows  were 
still  that  western  cloud,  floating  between  eyes  that  had  set 
forever  and  the  azure  expanse  of  the  forehead  above. 

Mrs.  Whichcomb,  and  the  tray,  came  into  the  room,  more 
quietly  than  usual,  not  to  minister  to  the  sick,  but  to  remove 
the  traces  of  sickness,  and  gather  up  sundry  medicinal 
vessels,  for  which  there  was  no  further  use. 

Kichard  left  the  room ;  and  Landlady  followed  him. 

"  It  has  come  to  this  !  "  said  the  latter.  "  Yes,"  replied 
Richard,  mournfully.  "You  would  hardly  have  thought 
it,"  she  added.  "  I  have  feared  it  a  long  time,"  he  rejoined. 
She  was  behind  him  when  she  said  this.  Reaching  the 
landing,  he  turned  towards  her,  and  saw  her  eye  drooping 
over  the  tray,  loaded  with  empty  bottles  and  sundry  trifles, 
the  wrecks  of  a  vain  Hygiene.  To  that  tray,  as  he  had 
nothing  else  in  particular  to  look  at,  his  own  gaze  gravitated. 
"  How  much  is  gone  !  "  she  said,  while  a  tear  swelled  in 
her  eye,  which  she  tried  to  suppress,  and  her  voice  thickened 
with  emotion.  "  Yes,"  replied  Richard,  touched  by  her 
emotion.  "  How  little  comes  out  of  the  sick  room  !  "  she 
went  on ;  "  but  to  remember  how  faithful  you  was,  and  you 
are  kept  up  under  the  heavy  blow.  Then  there  is  the  going 
up  and  down  stairs,  seeing  to  everything  that  is  wanted,  and 
20^ 


234  RICHARD    EDNEY    AND 

with  a  weak  back  and  so  many  others  to  look  after,  —  if  I 
was  n't  a  Christian,  which  I  sometimes  fear,  I  could  n't  have 
got  through  it  all.  Who  knows  what  death  is,  till  it  comes 
into  a  body's  house,  and  that  a  boarding-house,  right  amongst 
so  many,  who  all  have  their  own  feelings  ?  They  will  not 
use  the  things  again,  and  it  takes  a  good  while  to  get  them 
back  into  the  room,  which  we  have  to  do  to  raw  hands,  and 
never  tell  them.  Then  there  is  the  Doctor's  bill,  and  the 
Undertaker's,  and  the  grave-digging,  which  must  be  paid  ; 
and  you  never  know  where  the  money  is  hid."  Richard 
heard  enough,  too  much  for  his  peace  of  mind;  and  he 
retorted,  with  reasonable  severity,  "  How  can  you  so  har- 
row the  sensibilities  of  the  living,  and  insult  the  memories 
of  the  dead  ! '' 

"  So-ho  !  "  snapped  the  woman;  "you  would  fob  me  off, 

—  you  would  shirk  me  out  of  my  dues;  when  I  have  been 
in  the  business  thirty  year,  and  stood  between  myself  and 
ruin  six  months  at  a  time,  which  death  always  produces,  and 
the  friends  aftervA'-ards  have  no  more  hearts  than  a  stone ! 
Vou  shall  pay  for  it;   this  sickness  shall  come  out  of  you!" 

Richard  escaped  into  the  street.  He  provided  for  the 
obsequies ;  he  took  charge  of  the  services  on  the  burial  daJ^ 
It  was  a  scant  procession,  but  it  comprised  the  elements  of 
tenderest  sorrow.  In  a  quiet  lot,  in  the  city  burial-ground, 
the  remains  of  Violet  were  laid.. 

What  should  become  of  the  Old  Man  and  Junia  ?  They 
were  without  resources.  The  expenses  incident  to  what  had 
transpired  more  than  exliausted  their  little  store.  There 
was  a  balance  against  them  of  a  few  dollars,  which  the 
generosity  of  the  Factory  Girls,  and  some  others,  removed. 

They  could  not  remain  at  Whichcomb's,  for  two  reasons, 

—  the  head  of  that  establishment  w^ould  not  have  them 
there,  and  Junia  had  no  wish  to  be  there. 


THE    governor's    FAMILY.  235 

Nor  was  Junia  inclined  to  resume  her  labors  in  the  Fac- 
tor}\  The  Old  Man  had  a  son-in-law  in  one  of  the  neigh- 
boring counties  ;  thither  they  would  go.  Meanwhile  they 
were  invited  to  spend  a  few  days  at  Willow  Croft. 

But  how  should  they  reach  that  distant  town?  Munk 
&  St.  John's  stage-route  led  partway  to  it,  and  it  occurred 
to  Richard,  as  it  probably  would  occur  to  half  our  readers, 
that  a  free  passage  would  be  offered  them. 

But  there  was  an  obstacle.  Mr.  St.  John  was  a  right- 
angled  man ;  he  liked  to  see  things  square.  He  would  have 
the  way-bill  square  with  the  passengers.  He  was  wont  to 
follow  the  stage  to  the  suburbs  of  the  city,  to  see  that  the 
footings  squared  with  the  seats.  And  he  had  introduced  a 
rule  into  the  firm,  possibly  suggested  by  the  laxity  of  his 
associate,  to  have  no  free  seats.  A  good  rule,  indeed,  when 
we  reflect  how  a  stage  company  is  liable  to  be  pestered  by 
mendicant  applications,  or  imposed  upon  by  fraudulent  ones. 
"  If  men  are  really  poor,  let  the  towns  to  which  they  belong, 
or  their  friends,  pay  their  passage.  Why  are  we  the  sole 
public  benefactors  ?  "     So  Mr.  St.  John  argued. 

Richard  was  compromised  with  Junia.  He  had  said 
there  could  be  no  doubt  about  the  conveyance.  Munk  con- 
tributed half  a  dollar  towards  the  fare,  and  so  did  Winkle, 
and  so  did  Aunt  Grint.  As  much  more  was  needed.  There 
were  the  Denningtons  and  others,  but  Junia  was  already 
insolvent  to  their  kindnesses.  W^hat  should  Richard  do  ? 
W'hat  should  Junia  do  ?  They  v;ere  both  in  that  pain  in 
which  little  things  will  sometimes  involve  pure  and  benevo- 
lent minds;  —  Richard  overleaping  his  means  in  an  attempt 
to  do  good ;  Junia  sorely  perplexed  by  the  trouble  she  gave 
her  friends. 

Deliverance  came  in  this  wise.  Munk  and  St.  John 
desired  to  send  an  agent  into  the  country  to  purchase  grain, 


236  RICH^IRD   EDNEY,  ETC. 

and  look  after  stables  and  other  things  incident  to  an  import- 
ant stage-route,  and  Richard  was  deemed  a  suitable  person 
for  such  a  trust.  He  wished  to  see  the  country,  and  was 
glad  to  go ;  but  stipulated,  as  a  consideration  for  his  services, 
that  his  unfortunate  friends  should  be  carried  likewise. 

So,  one  morning,  after  collecting  passengers  from  all  the 
hotels,  and  taking  in  the  mails  from  the  Post-office,  with  his 
clean-washed,  newly-painted,  and  highly-enameled  coach, 
and  his  team  of  mettlesome,  pawing,  bright-haired  bays, 
Winkle  drew  up  at  Willow  Croft. 


CHAPTER     XX. 

THE    STAGE-DRIVER. 

We  promised  to  say  something  more  of  Winkle ;  and  this 
is  the  chapter  to  do  it ;  and  what  we  would  say  is,  there 
was  no  such  man.  This  statement  is  quite  true,  and  quite 
false.  Such  is  the  nature  of  human  language.  The  truth 
will  be  understood  by  Winkle's  friends.  Is  it  convertible  in 
the  Tartar  tongue  ?  Let  us  explain.  We  suppose,  and  the 
calculation  is  based  on  an  unanimous  popular  sentiment, 
that  if  all  the  Stage-drivers  on  the  North  American  Conti- 
nent were  recast  and  made  into  one,  that  one  would  not  be 
equal  to  Winkle.  Or  thus,  —  if  the  essence  of  all  good  stage- 
driverism  on  the  aforesaid  territory  were  extracted,  it  would 
not  compare  with  what  could  be  got  out  of  the  smallest  frag- 
ment of  Winkle. 

In  the  first  place.  Winkle  knew  everybody,  and  every- 
thing ;  and  every  body  and  thing  knew  Winkle.  He  knew 
all  the  girls,  and  the  school-children,  and  the  old  men,  and 
the  young  men ;  and  bowed  to  them  all,  as  he  rode  by,  and 
they  bowed  to  him.  For  forty  miles,  he  knew  where  every- 
body lived,  and  who  everj'body  was  that  lived  anywhere. 
He  knew  the  tall,  white  house  on  the  hill,  and  the  large 
house,  with  pillars  in  front,  among  the  trees,  and  the  little 
black  house  over  in  the  field ;  and  there  was  always  some- 
body standing  by  all  the  houses,  to  whom  he  bowed.  Some- 
times he  bowed  to  the  well-sweep  that  happened  to  move  in 
the  wind ;  sometimes  to  a  dog  that  sat  on  the  door-steps. 
How  many  smiling  favors  he  got  from  the  girls,  who,  after 


238  RICHARD   EDNEY   AND 

dinner,  and  after  dressing  for  the  afternoon,  sat  by  the  open 
front  windows  !  how  many  from  the  children  that  swarmed 
about  the  school-houses  !  In  fact,  everybody  smiled  and 
bowed  when  he  passed,  —  black  and  hard-favored  men ; 
muggy  and  obstinate  men;  coarse  and  awkward  men. 
Every  day  he  had  a  sort  of  President's  tour. 

Then,  he  pointed  out  the  tree  where  a  man  hung  himself, 
and  the  woods  where  a  bear  was  shot,  and  the  barn  that 
was  struck  by  lightning,  and  the  stream  where  a  man  was 
drowned. 

And  this,  in  the  second  place  :  because  of  his  unbounded 
good-nature.  He  did  errands  for  all  those  people ;  he  ran 
a  sort  of  express  to  the  city ;  an  express,  too,  from  one  neigh- 
borhood to  another.  Then,  he  did  his  errands  so  correctly, 
so  promptly,  and  so  genially.  If  those  for  whom  he 
acted  were  poor,  he  charged  but  little.  He  knew  every 
place  in  Woodylin,  and  could  execute  any  order,  from  get- 
ting iron  castings  to  purchasing  gimp,  and  matching  paper 
hangings,  and  delivering  billet-doux.  Furthermore  —  and 
herein  the  beauty  of  Winkle  was  seen  —  he  ran  express  be- 
tween Hearts.  Nothing  pleased  him  better  than  to  have  a 
love-case  in  hand  between  two  persons  on  different  parts  of 
his  route  ;  there  was  such  a  carrj'ing  of  little  notes,  and  little 
remember-me's,  and  little  nods  and  signs  ;  and  then  he  could 
drop  a  big  bundle  of  tenderness  in  a  single  look,  as  he  passed 
the  sweetheart,  hanging  out  the  washing  of  a  Monday 
morning.  Then  of  the  widow's  son,  whom  he  carried  to 
the  city  some  five  years  before,  and  who  had  been  all  this 
time  at  sea,  he  got  the  first  intelligence ;  and  as  he  walked 
his  horses  up  a  long  hill,  and  the  mother  sat  rocking  and 
knitting  by  the  roadside,  he  told  her  that  her  boy  had  been 
spoken  off  the  Cape  of  Good  Hope,  or  that  his  ship  had  been 
reported  from  Rio.     When  anybody  was  sick  along  the  road 


THE    governor's    FAMILY.  239 

he  bore  the  daily  intelligence  to  friends,  who  stood  at  their 
doors  waiting  for  it ;  by  what  divination  it  was  communi- 
cated nobody  could  tell,  but  the  effect  was  instantaneous ;  so, 
by  an  invisible,  and,  as  it  were,  omnipotent  hand,  he  dropped 
smiles  and  tears,  joy  and  sorrow,  w^herever  he  went ;  and 
his  own  heart  was  so  much  in  it  all,  none  could  help  loving 
him.  In  addition,  and  notwithstanding  Mr.  St.  John,  he 
gave  little  gratuitous  rides  ;  he  let  the  boys  hang  on  behind ; 
and  in  the  winter  we  have  heard  of  his  taking  up  half  a 
dozen  school  children  with  their  mistress,  and  helping  them 
through  snow-drifts.  Then  he  carried  the  mail,  which  is  it- 
self a  small  universe  in  a  leather  bag ;  —  here  sweet  spring  to 
some  bleak  and  ice-bound  soul,  —  at  the  next  turn  a  black 
thunder-storm  on  some  tranquil  household ;  —  now  singing  at 
one  corner  of  its  mouth,  as  if  it  was  full  of  Jenny  Linds,  — 
anon  tromboning  out  its  melancholy  intelligence  ;  and,  like  a 
Leyden  jar  on  wheels,  giving  everybody  a  shock  as  it  passes, 
making  some  laugh  and  others  scream.  Winkle  carried 
this,  and  it  was  as  if  Winkle  himself  was  it ;  and  some  peo- 
ple, notwithstanding  they  loved  him  so,  hardly  dare  see  him, 
or  have  him  open  his  mouth;  they  didn't  know,  any  more 
than  Aunt  Grint,  w^hat  had  happened,  or  what  might  hap- 
pen. In  addition,  he  brought  people  home  ;  and  as  he  drove 
on,  he  got  the  first  sight  of  the  old  roof  and  chimneys  ;  he  got 
the  first  sight  of  the  rose-bushes  and  the  lilacs  in  the  yard ; 
he  saw,  too,  from  the  quietness  about  the  house,  that  a 
surprise  was  on  hand ;  he  knew  perfectly  well  that  the 
daughter  whom  he  was  bringing  was  not  expected,  —  that 
she  meant  to  surprise  the  old  folks.  He  did  not  hurry  his 
horses  ;  he  did  not  make  any  sign.  He  landed  the  young 
lady  at  the  gate,  and  was  taking  off  the  baggage,  when  he 
heard  a  scream  in  the  door.  He  had  expected  it  all,  and 
looked  so  sober,  as  he  pulled  at  the  strap,  with  one  foot  on 


240  EICHAED   EDNEY   AND 

the  wheel,  and  his  back  bent  to  the  ground.  "  Naughty, 
naughty  Winkle ! "  cried  the  mother;  "why  didn't  you 
tell  us  Susau  was  coming  ?  You  have  almost  killed  me." 
Winkle  loved  to  kill  people  so. 

In  the  third  place,  there  is  magic  in  the  calling  of  a 
Stage-driver.  Everybody  knows  and  aspires  to  know  the 
Stage-driver ;  everj-body  is  knonia  by,  and  is  proud  to  be 
known  by,  the  Stage-driver.  The  little  boys  remember  it  a 
month,  if  the  Stage-driver  speaks  to  them.  There  is  a  par- 
ticular satisfaction  to  be  able  to  distinguish,  among  drivers, 
and  say,  it  was  Winkle,  or  it  was  Nason,  or  it  was  Mitch- 
ell. The  Stage-driver  is  Prince  of  a  peculiar  realm;  and 
that  realm  consists  of  the  yellow  coach  he  drives,  and  the 
high  seat  he  occupies,  and  his  four  mettlesome  horses,  and 
forty  miles  of  country  road,  and  the  heart  of  several  prin- 
cipal roads,  not  to  speak  of  ten  thousand  little  matters  of 
interest  and  pleasure,  business  and  profit,  news  and  gossip, 
with  which  he  is  connected.  Hence,  he,  like  a  Prince,  is 
held  in  reverence  by  the  populace.  Of  all  the  people  on  the 
earth,  he  is  the  one  who  rolls  by  in  a  gilded  coach ;  he  is 
the  one  who  sweeps  it  high  and  dry  over  the  world ;  he  is 
the  one  who  rides  through  his  immense  estate  with  the  most 
lordly  and  consequential  air,  and  all  the  rest  of  us  seem 
to  be  but  poor  tenants,  and  gaping  boors.  It  is  some- 
thing to  speak  to  a  Stage-driver ;  it  is  a  great  thing  to  be 
able  to  joke  with  him.  It  is  a  sign  of  a  great  man,  to  be 
recognized  by  the  Stage-driver.  To  be  perchance  known  by 
one  who  knows  nobody,  is  nothing.  To  be  known,  to  be 
pointed  out,  to  have  your  name  whispered  in  a  bystander's 
ear,  by  one  who  knows  everybody,  affects  you  as  if  Omnis- 
cience were  speaking  about  you.  The  Stage-driver  differs 
from  a  Steamboat  captain,  in  that  the  latter  is  not  seen  to 
be  so  immediately  connected  with  his  craft  as  the  former. 


THE   governor's   FAMILY.  241 

"We  meet  the  Captain  at  the  breakfast-table  :  he  is  nobody  ; 
he  is  no  more  than  we  ;  we  can  eat  as  well  as  he  can.  But 
who  dare  touch  the  Stage-driver's  ribbons  ?  Who  dare  swing 
his  whip  ? 

How  rapidly  and  securely  he  drives  down  one  hill  and  up 
the  next,  —  and  that,  with  fifteen  passengers  and  half  a  ton 
of  baggage !  Then  how  majestically  he  rounds  to,  at  the 
door  of  the  Tavern !  What  delicate  pomp  in  the  movement 
of  the  four  handsome  horses  !  In  what  style  the  cloud  of  dust, 
that  has  served  as  an  outrider  all  the  way,  passes  off  when 
the  coach  stops  !  How  the  villagers  —  the  blacksmith,  the 
shoemaker,  the  thoughtful  politician,  and  the  boozy  loafers, 
that  fill  the  stoop  —  grin  and  stare,  and  make  their  criticism  ! 

How  he  flings  the  reins  and  the  tired  horses  to  the  stable- 
boy,  who  presently  returns  with  a  splendid  relay  !  How  he 
accepts  these  from  the  boy  with  that  sort  of  air  with  which 
a  king  might  be  supposed  to  take  his  crown  from  the  hands 
of  a  valet !  There  are  his  gloves,  withal ;  —  he  always 
wears  gloves,  as  much  as  a  Saratoga  fine-lady,  and  would 
no  sooner  touch  anything  without  gloves  than  such  a  lady 
Avould  a  glass  of  Congress  water. 

There  is,  moreover,  a  mystery  attaching  to  the  Stage- 
driver, —  a  mystery  deeper  than  the  question.  Why  the  car- 
casses of  elephants  are  found  imbedded  in  the  ice-mountains 
of  the  Arctics  ?  —  even  this,  Why  the  Stage-driver  is  not 
frozen  to  death  in  our  winters  ?  His  punctuality  has  some- 
thing preternatural  in  it;  —  how,  in  the  coldest  weather, 
in  the  severest  storm,  in  fogs,  in  sleet,  in  hail,  in  lightning, 
in  mud,  when  nobody  else  is  abroad,  when  Madam  Denning- 
ton  hardly  dare  look  out  of  her  windows,  when  even  Hel- 
skill  expects  no  customers,  —  then  the  Stage-driver  appears, 
rounding  the  corner,  just  as  regular  and  just  as  quiet  as  the 
old  clock  in  the  kitchen. 
21 


242  RICHARD    EDNEY   AND 

It  is  no  wonder  that  the  height  of  the  ambition  of  mul- 
titudes of  young  men  is  to  be  a  Stage-driver.  This  was 
for  one  month  Simon's  ambition ;  but  it  was  clearly  seen  he 
had  not  the  necessary  genius,  and  he  gave  it  up,  and  went 
on  singing  as  abstractedly  as  ever,  "  O,  the  break  down !  O, 
the  break  down  !  "  The  wonder  is,  that  in  this  world  of 
uncertainty,  and  deception,  and  sin,  where  the  temptations 
to  wrong  are  so  frequent,  and  the  impulse  to  it  so  easily 
aroused,  so  good  a  driver  as  Winkle  should  be  found. 

Shall  we  say  that  Richard  had  all  these  thoughts  about 
Stage-drivers,  and  Winkle  in  particular  ?  He  had  many  of 
them  ;  — he  could  not  help  having  many  of  them,  for  there 
he  sat  on  the  box  with  Winkle,  and  saw  whatever  trans- 
pired relating  thereto. 

They  drove  on  through  a  well-cultivated,  deep-soiled, 
gently  undulating  country.  The  landscape  did  not  mount 
to  the  sublime,  nor  was  it  remarkable  for  boldness ;  the  sky- 
line was  agreeably  scolloped,  —  qu  ite  subordinate  dome-shaped 
hills  ever  and  anon  arose  into  view.  They  crossed  frequent 
ravines.  The  road  was  skirted  with  Ponds,  —  those  beauti- 
ful collections  of  water,  that  singly  or  in  groups  challenge 
the  regard  of  the  traveller  in  every  portion  of  the  country. 
Winkle,  as  he  knew  the  inhabitants,  so  also  knew  the  hills, 
the  ponds,  and  the  streams. 

He  told  Richard  the  names  of  many  of  them,  and  they 
were  bad  enough  to  be  dismissed  in  silence ;  but  it  is  be- 
cause they  were  so  bad,  Richard  could  not  be  silent,  neither 
shall  we  be.  Many  of  the  places  were  distinguished  by  the 
name  of  some  man  who  lived  near  by ;  thus,  there  were 
Vail  Hill,  Squier's  Corner,  Sills's  Mills.  Possibly,  in  a 
country  where  Man  is  so  respectable,  any  man  may  dignify 
any  spot  whereto  he  is  neighbor.  There  is,  however,  this 
difTicuhj'.     Man  changes,  moves  away,  dies,  while  the  spot 


THE    governor's    FAMILY.  243 

remains,  and  then  it  is  christened  into  the  next  comer.  So 
it  happened  that  Vail  Hill  was  sometimes  called  Water's 
Hill,  and  sometimes  Wrix's.  They  passed  through  "  South 
Smith,"  and  "  Smith  Corner,"  and  "  North  Smith."  "  Why 
Avas  this  so  called  ?  "  asked  Eichard.  "  From  one  of  the 
Heroes  of  the  War,  who  shot  a  man  —  or  a  man  shot  him, 
I  forget  which,"  replied  'Winkle.  "  What  is  this  ?  "  asked 
Kichard,  as  they  stopped  at  a  lovely  hamlet  on  the  margin 
of  a  pond.  "  Mouth-of-the-Klaber  Eoad,"  answered  his 
companion.  "  Old  Squire  Klaber,  some  years  ago,  built  the 
road  ;  and  this  was  the  mouth  of  it,  and  it  has  gone  by  that 
name  ever  since.     And  that  is  Twenty-five-mile  Pond." 

A  town  would  sometimes  be  thus  discriminated :  La 
Fayette,  La  Fayette  Centre,  La  Fayette  Bridge,  La  Fayette 
Ferry.  There  were  "Forks"  and  Cross  Roads.  A  favorite 
classification  was  "  Corners."  One  town  had  eight  "  Cor- 
ners,"—  not  on  its  edge,  but  in  its  middle. 

Consider  the  effect  of  this  arrangement.  In  John  Gilpin's 
race,  substitute  Stubb's  Tavern,  or  Peacock's,  for  Belief  Ed- 
monton, and  Cowper  would  have  had  a  more  dolorous  time 
than  his  hero.  Make  some  other  changes  thus  :  for  "  Banks 
of  Air,"  read  Banks  of  Teagle's  Brook.  Li  the  following 
passage  — 

"  More  pleased,  my  foot  the  hidden  margin  roves 
Of  Come,  bosomed  deep  in  chestnut  groves  ;  " 

for  "  Como "  introduce  "  Long  Pond,"  which  is  as  fairly 
bosomed  in  oaks  and  beeches,  and  overhung  by  as  stupen- 
dous hills.  How  could  "  Foss's  Stream  "  be  wTought  into 
any  stanza  like  this,  "  Thou  sweet  flowing  Dee,  to  thy 
waters  adieu  !  "  "  Think  of  coming,"  says  a  recent  trav- 
eller, "  into  Ebkdale,  and  Ennisdale,  of  walking  four  miles 
on  the  bank  of  UUswater,  of  looking  with  your  living  eyes 
on    Derwent   Water,   Grassmere,   Windermere !  "       Now, 


244  RICHARD   EDNEY   AXD 

Richard  rode  through  a  beautiful  valley  belonging  to  Sam 
Jones  and  Isaac  Seymour,  and  along  the  margin  of  a 
stream  remarkable  for  its  contrasts  of  thickets  and  clearing, 
wildness  and  repose,  known  as  "  Eight-mile  Brook  ;  "  and 
while  the  horses  were  changing,  he  went  upon  an  elevation 
called  "  Tumble-down-Dick  ]\Iountain,"  from  which  was  a 
view  of  unequalled  tint  and  variety,  rimmed  around  with 
those  bright  waters,  "  Spectacle  Pond,"  "  the  Matthew 
Paxson  Pond,"  and  "  Smith  Corner  Pond !  " 

But  in  the  midst  of  these  reflections,  where  was  Junia  ? 
She  sat  on  the  back  seat,  with  the  curtain  lifted,  leaning  on 
the  side-strap,  rapt  in  her  own  thoughts.  Winkle  knew 
he  was  carrying  Sorrow  that  day,  and  he  was  graver  than 
usual.  Richard  relapsed  into  frequent  reveries.  All  places, 
independent  of  their  names,  were  beautiful  to  Junia,  — 
beautiful,  too,  was  what  might  be  called  the  Spirit  of  the 
road  coming  forward  to  greet  Winkle.  But  this  beauty  was 
shaded  with  grief.  The  stage  was  a  teeming  News-teller 
dropping  its  items  and  its  bundles  of  information  into  hands 
that  stretched  up  all  along  the  way  to  receive  them ;  but  it 
would  bring  no  news  to  her.  It  was  carrj-ing  her  further 
and  further  from  the  sacred  spot  of  affection;  and  as  often  as 
it  might  return  over  the  same  ground,  it  would  bring  no 
word  to  her  of  the  absent  and  the  loved. 

Richard  offered  her  water,  but  she  could  not  drink ;  at  a 
hotel,  where  they  stopped  to  dine,  she  could  not  eat ;  and 
when  Richard  would  have  walked  with  her  into  the  streets 
of  the  town,  she  could  not  go. 

They  reached  the  terminus  of  the  route  about  sunset. 
The  Uncle  of  Junia  lived  a  few  miles  distant.  Thither, 
Richard,  taking  a  horse  and  wagon  belonging  to  the  Com- 
pany, drove  his  friends,  and  arrived  late  in  the  evening. 
This  family  he  found  very  glad  to  see  Junia  and  her  Grand- 


THE    governor's   FAMILY.  245 

father,  and  in  very  comfortable  circumstances.  The  man 
had  indeed  married  a  second  wife,  but  a  woman  who  exhib- 
ited the  tenderness,  and  preserved  the  recollections,  of  the 
immediate  Aunt  of  Junia,  and  daughter  of  the  Old  Man. 
They  were  certainly  open  to  affectionate  appeal,  and  some 
hidden,  strong  sensibility  could  alone  have  prevented  Junia's 
having  recourse  to  them  sooner.  Early  on  the  morrow 
Eiohard  returned. 

Having  attended  to  the  business  of  the   route,  in  a  few 
days  he  came  back  to  the  city. 
21# 


CHAPTER    XXI 


A    DOMESTIC    SCENE. 


"What  is  the  matter?"  said  Munk,  coming  in  to  his 
supper,  and  finding  the  children  in  a  snarl. 

"  So  much  for  gratifying  the  children!"  replied  his  wife  ; 
"Mrs.  Mellow  told  me  never  to  gratify  children,  and  I  always 
told  you  it  was  not  a  good  plan." 

"  I  hope  there  is  no  harm  done,"  rejoined  Munk. 

"  Mamma  made  us  two  dough-nut  babies,"  said  Memmy, 
"and  Bebby  has  eaten  hers  up,  and  now  she  wants  mine." 

Indeed,  she  did  want  it,  and  screamed  lustily  for  it. 
"  She  may  have  the  head,"  said  Memmy, — but  that  would 
not  do  ;  it  was  the  whole  or  nothing. 

Munk,  meanwhile,  had  taken  his  seat  at  the  table,  and 
was  stirring  his  tea,  looking  at  the  lumps  of  sugar  as  they 
turned  up  in  his  spoon.  Mrs.  Munk  put  Bebby  up  to  the 
table  in  her  high  chair.  The  child  wanted  a  cooky.  "  Eat 
your  bread  and  milk  first,"  enjoined  the  mother.  The  child 
reached  forward,  and  purloined  the  cooky.  "  Put  it  back !  " 
cried  the  mother.  The  child  did  not  obey.  "  Put  it 
back !  "  the  mother  called  out,  still  lou3fer.  The  child  de- 
layed. "  Put  it  back  !  "  the  mother  screamed.  The  child 
yielded,  and  began  to  cry.  "  Stop  your  crying!  "  —  so  the 
mother  pursued  her.  "  You  shall  be  whipped  !  Asa,  will 
you  take  the  child  and  whip  her  ?  "  Asa  relucted.  "  We 
must  be  obeyed,  —  we  must  be  firm," — so  the  wife  expostu- 
lated and  instructed,  — "  and  I  am  too  weak,  you  know  I 
am."     Munk  was  not  moved.     Again  Bebby  began  to  cry 


RICHARD  EPNEY,  ETC.  247 

for  Memmy's  dough-nut.  "  The  children  shall  never  have 
another  dough-nut  in  the  world  !  "  threatened  their  mother, 
"  Don't  say  so,"  replied  Munk. 

"  I  shall  go  off!  "  bitterly  exclaimed  Roxy,  and  covered 
her  face  with  her  apron. 

"  Don't  do  that,"  said  Munk. 

"  No,  no,  I  may  never  do  anything,  only  be  crazed  by  the 
children  !" 

"  Yes,  Roxy,  you  may  do  everything,  —  everything  you 
wish  to  do,  everything  you  ought  to  do.  Did  n't  you  love 
to  make  the  dough-nuts  for  them  ?  " 

"  I  did ;  but  we  are  not  to  be  ruled  by  our  affections,  but 
by  a  sense  of  duty,  or  we  shall  ruin  the  children.  Have  n't 
I  told  you  so  before  ?  " 

"  Were  not  you  happy  in  doing  what  you  did  ?  " 

"  Surely  I  was.  Memmy  asked  me,  and  Bebby  pleaded 
so,  and  I  was  happy;  but  I  had  no  right  to  be.  I  yielded 
to  it,  and  this  comes  of  it." 

The  trouble  of  the  parents  only  seemed  to  increase  that 
of  the  children,  whose  noise  and  altercation  it  became  more 
and  more  difficult  to  bear. 

"  Give  her  the  whole,"  said  Munk  to  Memmy. 

*'  That  w'ould  not  be  right,  I  think,"  interposed  Richard. 
"  Bebby  has  not  been  very  well  to-day,  and  she  has  ap- 
peared more  fretful  than  ordinary.  You  had  better  look 
into  the  matter,  and  see  if  it  is  not  something  besides  the 
dough-nut  that  ails  her." 

"  She  ought  to  be  whipped  !  "  said  Mrs.  Munk.  "Mrs. 
Mellow  says  a  whipping,  now  and  then,  does  children  good." 

"  Don't  say  that  again,  will  you,  Roxy  ?  "  rejoined  her 
husband. 

"  Let  me  see  w^hat  can  be  done,"  added  Richard.  He 
took  the  child  into  the  rocking-chair,  sang  songs,  and  soon 
had  her  fast  asleep. 


CHAPTER    XXII. 

RICHARD    AND    THE    GOVERNOR'S   FAMILY  AGAIN. 

The  Governor  was  in  the  practice  of  taking  his  fam- 
ily, in  a  festive  way,  sometimes  to  "  Spot,"  sometimes  to 
"  Speckle," — names  of  ponds,  of  which  there  were  several 
in  the  neighborhood  of  the  city,  —  w^here  they  spent  the 
day,  and  returned  at  night.  This  year  he  w^ould  go  to 
"  Spot,"  and  "Climper's,"  Mr.  Climper  being  the  proprietor  of 
"  Spot,"  and  its  hotel,  its  boats,  and  other  recreative  addita- 
inents.  The  family,  in  this  instance,  meant  more  than  it 
does  in  our  title ;  it  included  married  children  and  grand- 
children, and  it  did  not  include  Roscoe  or  Benjamin. 

The  Governor's  carriage  was  too  small,  and  he  ordered 
Munk  &  St.  John's  omnibus,  and  Richard  was  commis- 
sioned to  drive  it. 

Alice  Weymouth,  emerging  from  under  the  trees  in  the 
front  yard,  was  the  first  to  discover  Richard  Edney  on  the 
box.  She  smiled  and  blushed,  and  turned  to  Miss  Rowena, 
who  laughed  and  turned  to  Barbara ;  w'ho  did  the  same  to 
Melicent,  by  w'hom  the  drollery  was  conveyed  to  her  mother 
and  Mrs.  Melbourne,  where  it  stopped.  And  for  a  good 
reason,  — these  were  the  last  out  of  the  house.  "  What  are 
)"ou  laughing  at  ?  "  asked  Mrs.  Melbourne.  Madam  laughed 
just  because  the  others  did,  and  said,  "  This  is  a  pleasant 
beginning,  and  we  shall  have  more  sport  before  the  day  is 
over." 

Notwithstanding  Barbara  and  Melicent  were  so  much 
alike  they  were    often  mistaken  for  each  other,  they  had 


RICHARD  EDNEV,  ETC,  249 

their  peculiarities ;  and  one  was  this,  —  that  Barbara  could 
not  ride  on  the  outside  of  a  coach,  and  Melicent  disliked  the 
inside.  So,  when  the  rest  were  seated,  Melicent  mounted 
the  box  with  Richard.  It  had  indeed  got  whispered  all 
through  the  party  that  it  was  Richard ;  but  Madam,  who 
hated  an  ado,  hushed  the  folks,  and  Richard  drove  on 
without  molestation. 

He  took  the  same  road  that,  a  few  months  before,  in  mid- 
winter, he  had  come  to  the  city  on.  Grass  was  sprouting 
where  the  heavy  drifts  lay.  Cattle  luxuriously  fed  in  fields 
from  which  they  had  gladly  retreated.  Barn-yards  that  had 
been  so  variously  and  thickly  stocked  were  open  and 
empty.  Buds  that  folded  themselves  from  the  storm  be- 
neath the  bark  of  trees  were  abroad  and  wantoning  in  the 
sun.  Doors  that  had  been  doubled,  listed,  bolted  against 
winter,  were  waltzing  with  summer.  Men,  whose  every 
look  and  step,  whose  every  article  of  dress,  and  posture  of 
body,  indicated  a  struggle  with  the  old  temperature, 
sparkled  and  sped  in  the  deliciousness  and  congeniality  of 
the  new. 

Richard  remarked  these  changes,  and  spoke  also  of  the 
woman  whom  he  extricated  from  a  snow-drift.  Melicent 
knew  Miss  Freeling  well,  and  liked  her  much ;  and  they 
talked  of  that. 

Richard  went  on  to  thinking  of  his  first  coming  to  the 
city ;  —  of  the  Bridge,  and  the  lively  people  from  the 
Athenaeum ;  of  the  man  with  the  umbrella,  and  his 
solemn  warning ;  and  of  other  things  that  had  befallen,  in 
many  of  which  Melicent  herself  had  borne  a  part ;  and  now 
he  sat  alone  with  one  of  the  objects  of  his  thought,  and  he 
wished  to  know  more  of  her,  and  she  was  ready  to  know 
more  of  him. 

How  he   could   talk   at   random,  and   think  of  remote 


250  niCHARD   EDNEY    AND 

things,  and  mind  his  four  horses  so  well,  she  would  like  to 
be  informed.  It  was  habit,  he  said,  and  the  horses  were  well 
trained.  But  attention  to  the  brake  now  and  then  inter- 
rupted conversation;  and  she  was  not  sorry  it  did,  for  going 
down  hill  on  the  top  of  an  omnibus  inclines  a  woman  to 
silence.  How  could  horses  be  so  courteous  ?  Why  should 
they  not,  in  some  rude  moment,  jerk  the  coach  into  the 
ditch  ?  This  brought  up  the  whole  question  of  horses,  and 
domestication,  and  the  power  of  the  human  over  the  brute ; 
all  which  topics  Richard  handled  very  sagely  and  instruct- 
ively. 

As  they  were  walking  slowly  up  a  hill,  Melicent  observed, 
for  the  second  time  since  they  started,  "It  is  a  fine  day." 
"  Exquisitely  fine,"  added  Richard.  There  must  have  been 
something  in  Richard's  mind,  or  education,  or  association,  to 
suggest  this  expletive,  which  he  pronounced  as  if  he  was 
used  to  it,  and  deeply  felt  it.  And  there  must  have  been 
something  in  the  day  to  revive  the  memory  of  such  an  ex- 
pletive. And  Melicent  looked  again  at  the  day,  and  thougljt 
of  Richard.  "  A  very  blue  sky,  and  very  white  clouds," 
added  he.  A  common  remark.  But  Melicent  herself  had 
hardly  noticed  the  intensity  of  the  blue  and  the  white,  and 
she  looked  at  them  again.  "  How  beautiful  an  opening 
into  the  sky  those  two  mountains  make  !"  she  said,  inclining 
her  fan  carelessly  in  the  direction  indicated,  and  letting  it 
rock  back  on  the  pivot  of  her  hand.  *'  How  fine  a  promon- 
tory the  sky  makes  down  among  the  mountains  !  "  Richard 
rejoined.  He  was  ahead  of  her  this  time  ;  but  he  instantly 
apologized  by  saying,  "  My  teacher,  Mr.  Willwell,  used  to 
instruct  us  that  there  was  an  earth-line  of  the  sky,  as 
well  as  a  sky-line  of  the  earth.  Instead  of  calling  a  moun- 
tain high,  he  said  we  might  call  the  sky  hollow."  ''  He 
must  be  an  ingenious  man,"  observed  Melicent.     "  He  is," 


THE    governor's    FA3IILY.  251 

answered  Richard.  "  He  told  the  class  in  geography  there 
were  harbors  in  the  sky,  and  capes,  and  peninsulas  ;  and  took 
us  out  and  showed  them  to  us.  The  sky,  he  said,  was  like 
a  great  ocean  overhanging  us,  and  bounded  by  the  earth,  and 
having  its  shores  along  the  hills  and  plains.  He  showed  us 
clouds  at  sea,  and  in  a  storm,  and  at  anchor  in  the  harbors. 
Then  he  showed  us  how  this  earth-line  of  the  sky  varied  its 
height  and  distance  relatively  to  our  position  and  to  sur- 
rounding objects.  Here  was  a  hill  fifty  feet  high,  and  sky 
above  it ;  and  the  sky  was  fifty  feet  high,  apparently,  he 
said,  and  the  clouds  were  the  same ;  and  it  looked  as  he 
said.  On  each  side  was  a  range  of  mountains  a  mile  off, 
and  there  the  sky  and  clouds  appeared  to  be  a  mile  off. 
The  sky,  he  said,  was  not  like  an  inverted  bowl,  having  a 
regular  edge  in  the  horizon,  but  rather  like  a  bowl  full  of 
water,  that  took  all  the  forms  of  the  irregularities  of  things 
about  us.  —  Here  the  road  goes  through  a  piece  of  woods; 
let  us  see  what  is  there." 

"  The  sky,"  said  Melicent,  "  is  like  a  river  above  us ;  and 
there  is  a  cloud  before  us,  that  seems  to  rest  on  the  trees, 
and  is  just  as  high  as  they  are, — rather  it  is  a  bridge 
across  the  river.  Were  we  spiders  or  spirits,  we  might  walk 
on  that  bridge,  or  sail  on  that  river.  Your  teacher's 
theory,"  she  added,  as  they  drove  on,  "is  a  good  one.  As 
we  ascend,  the  sky  recedes  ;  as  we  descend,  it  comes  nearer." 

"  At  the  bottom  of  a  well,"  remarked  Richard,  "  the  sky, 
he  said,  would  appear  to  rest  on  its  mouth.  We  went 
down  into  one,  and  found  the  fact  to  be  so." 

"  A  cloud,"  resumed  Melicent,  "  appears  to  be  stranded  on 
the  top  of  that  pasture-ground,  and  the  cows  look  as  if  they 
might  tear  it  with  their  horns.  Yet,  if  we  were  up  there, 
I  suppose  we  should  see  the  same  cloud  on  the  summit  of 


252  EICHARD    EDNEY   AND 

some  higher  hill.  —  Have  you  seen  paintings  much,  Mr. 
Edney  ?  " 

"  I  have  not,"  replied  Richard. 

"  I  have  often  thought  \A-hat  studies  the  clouds  might  be 
for  painting ;  yet  how  much  better  they  are  without  paint- 
ing!" 

"  They  are  better  than  pictures,  Mr.  Wilhvell  said  ;  and 
I  doubt  if  any  picture  can  exceed  them." 

Melicent  wondered  that  a  mill-boy  and  hack-driver  should 
be  so  well  informed.  There  was  no  wonder  about  it.  He 
had  had  a  good  village  school  education,  and  improved  on 
what  he  was  taught. 

A  scream  was  heard  from  the  inside  of  the  coach.  A 
bonnet  had  fallen.  Melicent  would  hold  the  reins,  while 
Richard  jumped  down  and  recovered  it,  — she  really  would. 
This  pleased  Richard,  and  it  pleased  Melicent,  both  equally. 

Here  was  sympathy,  harmony,  a  certain  piece  of  never-to- 
be-forgotten  mutual  good  feeling.  That  Melicent  should 
offer  to  hold  the  reins,  that  Richard  should  think  she 
could  hold  them,  that  she  did  hold  them,  that  she  had  held 
them,  —  the  reins,  and  the  four  horses,  and  the  coachful  of 
people,  —  oh,  these  are  trifles,  but  they  are  such  sort  of  tri- 
fles as  helped  while  away  a  mile  of  the  road,  and  such  as 
have  their  place  and  mission  all  along  the  road  of  life. 

Let  us  look  at  this  ride,  and  in  fact  this  entire  tale,  in  one 
point  of  view :  —  that  Richard  Edney  now  had  the  Govern- 
or's Family  under  his  thumb,  or,  more  literally,  in  his  two 
hands  ;  that  there  they  w^ere,  closely  stowed  under  his  feet, 
in  a  tight  vehicle,  —  a  mere  box,  —  and  four  stout  horses  in 
front.  If  Richard  were  evil-disposed,  how  easy  to  do  them 
an  injury  !  If  he  were  vain,  how  natural  to  feel  exalted  !  If 
he  were  wanton,  how  pleasant  to  tease  and  scare  them  !  If 
he  knew  the  dignity,  extent,  and  value  of  the  Family,  how 


THE    governor's    FAMILY.  253 

readily  he  might  manage  an  advantage  out  of  them !  But 
his  Father  told  him  to  treat  everybody  respectfully,  —  to 
behave  properly  in  all  relations.  If  he  were  a  servant,  to  be 
faithful ;  if  he  were  a  master,  to  be  kind ;  and  if  he  drove, 
to  do  it  carefully, — to  reverence  life,  and  be  tender  of  sensi- 
bility, human  or  brute.  Almost  the  last  word  his  Mother 
said  to  him  was,  "  Kichard,  be  a  good  boy.  I  need  n't  say 
it,  I  know ;  but  it  is  all  that  is  in  my  heart,  and  all  that  is 
in  your  duty,  and  I  will  say  it  again,  Be  a  good  boy." 
Richard  was  a  good  boy,  and  of  course  a  good  driver,  and 
treated  the  Governor's  Family  becomingly,  and  drove  them 
securely. 

So  he  got  the  party,  in  good  shape,  to  "  Spot,"  and 
"  Climper's."  The  hotel  overlooked  the  water,  and  com- 
manded a  picturesque  horizon.  Climper  was  fat,  and  gruff, 
—  Giles  to  the  contrary  notwithstanding, — petulant,  and 
slow ;  and  one  would  think  he  neither  understood  the  arts 
of  courtesy,  nor  the  tricks  of  trade  ;  —  and,  furthermore, 
that  he  had  been  set  up  in  life  at  Spot  Pond,  by  some  cyn- 
ical school  of  philosophers,  on  purpose  to  prove  that  our  the- 
ories, touching  the  effect  of  beauty  and  goodness  on  the 
character,  are  moonshine.  Every  coach  that  darkened  his 
yard  was  not  half  so  dark  as  he  himself  was  all  over  his 
house.  But  somehow  Climper  was  the  proprietor  of 
"  Climper's,"  and  of  the  fine  view  therefrom,  and  of  the 
best  side  of  the  Pond,  and  of  the  boats  and  bowling-alley; 
and  everybody  liked  Climper's,  while  everybody  had  an  idea 
of  hating  Climper,  but  did  not  do  it. 

This  shows  there  is  a  difference  between  a  man  and 
his  attributes,  —  between  quality  and  substance  ;  for  there 
might  be  a  Climper's,  and  no  Climper. 

So  Richard  thought,  when  Climper  wheezed  forth  to  let 
down  the  steps  and  hand  the  people  out.  He  scowled,  when 
22 


254  KICHAKD    EDNEY   AND 

he  did  so,  and  scolded  because  Richard  had  not  driven  a 
few  feet  further,  and  worried  because  word  had  not  been 
sent  that  they  v/ere  coming.  The  grandchildren  were 
intimidated  by  the  man,  but  Madam  urged  them  along. 
Still,  Melicent  would  not  be  squired  by  such  a  grumbler, 
and  tried  to  find  her  way  down  from  the  box  alone.  Her  foot 
caught,  and  she  would  have  fallen,  if  Richard  had  not 
caught  her.  This  brought  around  him  the  whole  Family. 
Madam  had  an  inkling  as  to  who  the  driver  was ;  and  when 
she  saw  him  in  such  near  proximity  to  her  daughter,  she 
cast  a  searching  sidelong^  glance  at  him,  and  thanked  him. 
Miss  Rowena,  who,  on  a  former  occasion,  had  really  sneered 
at  Richard,  was  awe-stricken.  Blelicent  introduced  Richard 
in  form  to  her  several  friends. 

When  this  ceremony  was  ended,  Richard  proceeded  to 
look  after  his  team.  Climper's  boy  had  already  unhitched 
the  horses,  and  was  leading  them  to  the  stable.  Richard 
took  from  the  box  a  coarse  frock  he  wore  on  such  occasions, 
and  followed.  While  he  was  rubbing  down  the  horses, 
Climper  appeared  in  haste,  and  said  Mrs.  Melbourne  wanted 
to  see  him.  Richard  would  take  off  his  frock.  No !  The 
lady  could  not  wait,  and  Climper  drove  him  off  with  his 
fists.  Richard  went  to  the  drawing-room,  where  were 
Madam,  Mrs.  Melbourne,  Melicent,  and  Rasle.  "  You  wish 
to  see  me,"  said  Richard,  looking  rather  indefinitely.  "  We 
are  very  glad  to  see  you,"  answered  Madam,  yet  rather 
dubiously.  "  Mrs.  Melbourne  wishes  to  see  me,"  particu- 
larized Richard.  "  I  do  not,"  answered  that  lady  ;  "  I  am 
far  from  it."  Richard  was  quite  blanked.  "  Mr.  Climper 
said  you  did,"  he  explained.  They  all  smiled,  and  looked 
knowing,  except  Mrs.  Melbourne,  who  looked  knowing, 
but  did  not  smile.  Richard  neither  smiled  nor  looked 
knowing.     "A  little  pleasantry,"  said  Melicent.    "  How  are 


THE    governor's    FAMILY.  255 

your  horses,  sir?"  She  wished  to  turn  the  subject. 
"  There  was  n't  anything  pleasant  about  it,"  spoke  out 
Rasle.  "Aunt  Melbourne  said  she  wished  to  see  you  pun- 
ished for  sweating  the  horses,  and  she  did  n't  care  how 
quick."  "  Never  mind,  young  man,"  said  Madam,  coming 
kindly  towards  him,  and  as  it  were  moving  with  him  towards 
the  door.  "  Mrs.  Melbourne  has  a  way,  and  Mr.  Climper  has 
a  wa}--,  and  we  all  have  ways,  you  know."  O  yes,  Richard 
knew;  and  went  back,  very  pleasantly,  to  his  work.  It  was 
a  trick  of  Climper's. 

Having  finished  the  horses,  he  threw  off  his  frock,  went 
to  the  house,  where  he  washed  and  combed,  and  loitered  to 
the  verandah;  where  were  Madam  and  Mrs.  Melbourne. 
Madam  beckoned  him  to  her  side.  "  We  owe  you  an  apol- 
ogy," she  began.  "  Do  not  speak  of  it,"  said  Richard. 
"We  owe  you  something — "  "Nothing,"  he  persisted. 
"  We  owe  you,"  she  went  on,  "  for  the  deliverance  of  the 
Governor  in  one  instance,  and  our  daughter  Melicent  in 
two,  which  makes  three."  "I  only  did  my  duty,"  an- 
swered Richard.  "And  in  that,"  interposed  Mrs.  Melbourne, 
"  we  all  come  short.  Why,  Cousin,  make  such  account  of 
trifles,  when  a  whole  life  of  sin  lies  against  us?"  Madam 
was  silent;  she  nev^er  argued.  This  silence  was  interrupted 
by  the  dashing  of  the  Governor  through  the  hall,  followed 
by  the  little  ones. 

"  Hurra  for  the  boats  !  "  he  cried. 

The  Governor  was  a  grave  and  reverend  man ;  but  he 
could  unbend, — he  could  be  quite  relaxed, — and  with  chil- 
dren he  was  playful  as  a  child.  Perhaps  he  remembered  a 
certain  great  one  who  was  detected  in  his  library  playing 
leap-frog  with  his  children. 

They  scampered  to  the  Pond,  and  after  them  puffed  and 
fretted  the  head  of  the   domain.     When  they  were  well 


256  RICHARD    EDNEY   AND 

seated  in  the  boat,  Climper  shoved  them  off;  and  he  did  it 
after  a  fashion  as  if  they  were  a  cargo  of  small-pox. 

Richard  took  the  oars.  He  had  seen  that  article  before, 
on  the  River,  and  the  Lakes,  to  say  nothing  of  his  father's 
mill-pond;  and  he  pulled  dextrously  and  strong.  They 
rowed  to  the  middle  of  the  Pond,  The  children  dropped 
hook ;  had  much  gayety  over  their  glorious  expectations  and 
their  insignificant  success.  They  heard  the  rattle  of  the 
king-fisher ;  they  descried  the  black  heads  of  loons  floating 
upon  the  surface,  like  pieces  of  charcoal ;  they  saw  the  taU 
firs  on  the  banks,  standing  base  to  base,  and  spiring  sub- 
stance and  shadow,  into  the  skies.  There  were  little  holms, 
and  large  islands.  On  one  side,  a  dark  schistous  bluff" 
faced  the  sky  and  darkened  the  water.  On  another,  paral- 
lelogramic  farms,  with  white  houses  and  capacious  barns  at 
the  head,  and  corn  and  grass  lots  at  the  foot,  sloped  to  the 
shore.  "  If  sky  is  like  water,"  said  Melicent,  "  what  shall 
we  do  with  sky  in  the  water  ?  "  "  Sail  on  it,"  answered 
Richard.  "  Un-spidered,  un-spirited,  we  can  do  it,  can't 
we  ?  "  she  rejoined.  "  I  wonder,"  said  Barbara,  "  how  the 
fishes  relish  the  arrival  of  a  boat  from  the  air-world,  passing 
like  a  cloud  over  their  pleasant  prospects.  How  should  we 
like  to  see  a  galley,  having  its  sides  lined  with  sharp-shoot- 
ers, sail  out  from  the  Moon,  and  hover  over  the  city  ?  "  "I 
wish  I  was  a  fish,"  spoke  out  Rasle.  "  Why  ?  "  asked  Mel- 
icent. "  I  would  bite  Aunt  Rowena's  hook."  That  was 
Rasle  all  over,  and  he  made  it  all  over  with  the  rest. 
There  was  great  concert  of  merriment,  and  great  discon- 
certion of  purpose.  Miss  Rowena  had  been  soberly  watch- 
ing her  line,  and  calculating  her  luck,  for  half  an  hour  ;  and 
some  others  had,  too.  As  it  is  considered  a  semi-crime  and 
a  certain  disgrace  to  go  a-fishing  and  not  catch  fish,  this  sally 
at  once  aggravated  and  decided  their  failure,  and  they  con- 


THE    governor's    FAMILY.  257 

eluded  to  return.  "  The  fish  are  at  the  hotel,"  said  the 
Governor,  "  and  I  have  a  hook  in  my  pocket  that  will  catch 
them."  "  What  was  that  ?  "  the  little  ones  asked.  "  The 
round  O  hook,  with  a  white  face,"  said  Easle,  addressing 
one  of  his  nephews  that  was  beginning  to  go  to  school. 

Rolling  nine-pins  was  part  of  "  Climper's,"  and  a  consid- 
erable part  to  the  children. 

Who  should  choose  up  with  Grandfather?  Mr.  Edney, 
he  said  ;  and  what  he  said,  everybody  said  ;  and  some  of 
them  thought  so,  and  some  of  them  did  not  tliink  so.  It 
was  Richard's  first  choice,  and  whom  should  he  choose  but 
Madam  herself  ?  The  Governor  took  Mrs.  Melbourne ; 
Then  Melicent  was  matched  against  Barbara,  Eunice  an- 
swered to  Easle,  and  so  on  to  the  very  baby  end  of  things. 
Miss  Rowena  kept  the  tally.  Now  commenced  the  solemn 
pauses,  and  the  obstreperous  outbursts  ;  the  spurrings  on  to 
the  alley,  and  the  banterings  off";  the  flourishes  of  attempt, 
and  the  blankness  of  defeat;  the  young  ones  jumping  up 
and  spatting  their  hands,  the  old  ones  heroically  staid  ; 
complaints  at  the  unevenness  of  floor  on  the  one  hand, 
and  quips  at  the  awkwardness  of  the  roller  on  the  other ; 
mock  condolences,  answered  by  mock  applause ;  such 
screamings  after  some  little  runaway  partisan,  and  such 
cautions  when  he  was  found ;  such  shouts  w^hen  Grand- 
father got  a  spare  ball,  and  such  shouts  when  Eunice  got 
one  pin  ;  (he  intense  excitement  as  to  who  should  beat, — 
the  little  ones  beating  and  annihilating  each  other  a  dozen 
times,  with  their  joyous  tongues,  before  it  was  decided 
which  side  had  beat.  Richard  led  off"  handsomely,  and 
Madam  was  no  mean  player  ;  but  the  Governor  was  a  great 
ball,  and  so  was  Mrs.  Melbourne :  but  Richard  beat,  or  his 
side  did ;  and  such  Yankee-doodling  as  the  little  ones,  who 
22* 


258  RICHARD   EDNEY    AND 

had  beaten  Grandfather,  set  up,  was  never  heard  this  side 
of  the  Revolution. 

Some  staid,  and  rolled  longer  ;  some  rushed  to  the  swing, 
and  tore  at  it  like  a  house-a-fire  ;  others  chased  one  another, 
like  a  troop  of  dogs,  over  the  grass  ;  a  portion  betook  them- 
selves to  the  seclusion  of  a  pine  grove  ;  a  few  explored  the 
edges  of  the  pond  for  lilies. 

They  were  summoned  to  a  dance;  and  the  Governor 
asked  Richard  to  join  them.  But  Richard,  imagining  the 
invitation  to  spring  more  from  politeness  than  cordiality,  — 
that  it  was  rather  from  consistency's  sake  than  any  single- 
ness of  feeling,  —  declined.  Now,  Climper,  fat  and  mulish, 
always  on  the  off  side,  always  plaguing  people,  declared 
Richard  should  dance;  and,  pushing  him  into  the  hall,  said 
if  he  did  not  dance,  he  would  make  him,  and  rendered 
excuse  abortive  and  retreat  impossible. 

Madam  was  tired ;  so  the  Governor  led  out  Miss  Row- 
ena,  Melicent  paired  off  with  Barbara,  and  Richard  bowed 
to  Mrs.  Melbourne.  This  lady  could  not  refuse,  and  Rich- 
ard could  not  but  advance ;  so  he  and  Mrs.  Melbourne 
danced  together !  There  may  have  been  contrivance  in 
this;  and,  judging  from  the  way  Cousin  bit  her  lip,  one 
might  conclude  she  had  something  to  do  with  it. 

There  was  one  advantage  in  Climper's,  —  it  levelled  dis- 
tinctions. Here  the  Governor's  Family  bowled  and  danced 
with  their  hack-driver.  The  same  thing  might  not  happen 
anywhere  else;  but  here,  in  this  out  of  the  way  place, 
where  mirth  and  good  feeling  were  the  presiding  genii,  the 
common  sensibilities  had  free  play ;  and  those  tastes  and 
inclinations,  which  of  themselves  know  no  rank  and  belong 
to  all  men,  were  spontaneously  developed  and  harmoniously 
exercised.  They  could  all  be  merry,  Richard  and  the  Gov- 
ernor alike ;  and  Mrs.  Melbourne  had  to  be,  albeit  she  did 


THE    CiOVEFNOr's    FAMILY.  259 

not  like  to  be ;  besides,  among  the  oddities  of  Climper  was 
the  practice  of  jumbling  all  sorts  of  people  together,  —  a 
practice,  indeed,  that  might  not  seem  suited  either  to  the 
decorum  or  the  policy  of  a  respectable  landlord  ;  but  it  was 
a  way  he  had,  and  all  who  went  to  Climper's  must  put  up 
with  Climper.  More  than  that :  this  very  way  he  had,  so 
repugnant  to  certain  standards  of  feeling,  accomplished  the 
end  every  one  aimed  at  in  going  thither,  —  to  be  merry. 

After  the  dance,  Richard  stood  with  Melicent  on  a  knoll 
overlooking  the  very  pretty  sheet  of  water  that  formed  the 
nucleus  of  the  interest  of  the  place. 

"I  have  not  thanked  you,"  he  said,  "for  the  pleasure  I 
have  had  here." 

"  You  have  been  a  part  of  the  pleasure,"  she  replied, 
"and  may  take  a  portion  of  the  credit  to  yourself." 

"  How  could  such  an  one  as  Climper  have  selected  this 
beautiful  place  to  dwell  in  ?  " 

"  It  was  one  of  his  oddities,  I  imagine ;  he  knew  that 
natural  propriety  would  assign  to  him  a  plainer  residence, 
and  out  of  sheer  opposition  to  his  destiny  he  came  hither." 

"  The  love  of  the  Beautiful,"  continued  Richard,  "may 
have  captivated  his  heart." 

"  Did  you  say  that  ?  "  rejoined  Melicent,  in  a  way  rather 
abrupt,  but  earnest. 

"  Did  I  say  what  ?  "  inquired  Richard,  as  if  he  was  startled 
at  something  he  might  have  said. 

"About  Beauty  and  Climper." 

"  I  said  what  I  have  heard  Parson  Harold  say." 

"  Then  you  do  not  believe  it  ?  " 

"  I  believe  and  feel  it." 

"  Repeat  what  you  said." 

"  You  banter  me." 

"  I  never  was  more  serious." 


260  RICHARD    EDNEY   AND 

"I  said  the  beauty  of  the  place  may  have  captivated 
Climper." 

"  In  that  Pond,"  interposed  Mrs.  Melbourne,  who  had  not 
been  far  off  during  this  conversation,  "  is  plenty  of  slime 
and  eel-pouts,  and  the  garbage  of  a  thousand  years." 

"  The  slime,"  replied  Richard,  "  is  one  of  the  best  of  fer- 
tilizers ;  and  eel-pouts  are  a  grateful  dish  to  some  people." 

"  Who  told  you  so  ?  "  asked  the  lady,  quickly. 

While  Richard  seemed  to  be  refreshing  his  memory,  Mel- 
icent,  laughing,  said,  "  Parson  Harold,  I  suppose." 

"  Very  likely,"  answered  Richard.  "  The  Parson  often 
says  everything  in  God's  world  has  its  use." 

"  Who  is  Parson  Harold  ?  —  and  what  does  he  know 
about  the  wickedness  that  lies  under  all  this  fair  surface  ?  " 

Mrs.  Melbourne  delivered  this  slattingly,  and  then  pulling 
at  Melicent,  she  said  the  little  children  w-anted  help  in  get- 
ting strawberries;  and  she  asked — she  only  asked  — Richard 
if  his  horses  had  been  watered  ;  she  could  not  bear  that  the 
poor,  dumb  beasts  should  suffer  through  the  folly  of  men. 

Richard  went  towards  the  stable. 

"  I  must  water  my  team,"  he  said  to  Climper,  whom  he 
encountered  in  the  way. 

"  Don't  pull  wool  over  my  eyes  so  !  "  replied  the  latter. 
"I  smell  dogs." 

"  Dogs  !  "  echoed  Richard. 

"  Yes,  dogs.  And  if  it  ain't  dogs,  it 's  pups  ;  and  I  won't 
have  one  here  !  They  bring  them  out  in  their  coaches,  and 
hide  them  under  the  straw.  Climper's  is  not  to  be  imposed 
upon,  —  Climper's  has  no  hand  in  it;  when  they  go  up  to 
the  polls,  they  shan't  say,  '  Climper's  is  against  us, —  Clim- 
per's harbors  dogs.'  " 

Richard  laughed  outright;  but  the  more  he  laughed,  the 
more  Climper  blared,  until  he  consented  that  the  carriage 


THE    governor's   FAMILY.  261 

should  be  overhauled.  The  straw  was  ransacked,  shawls 
and  tippets  were  thrown  out,  but  to  no  purpose,  —  no  sign 
of  a  dog  appeared. 

"  You  belong  to  the  anti-dogs  ?  "  asked  the  landlord. 

"  I  am  of  no  party,"  replied  Richard.  "  There  is  some 
good  in  all  parties." 

"  There  is  n't  some  good  in  all  parties  !  "  replied  the  other, 
doggishlj\ 

"  Indeed,  there  is  some  good  in  you." 

"  No,  there  is  n't  any  good  in  me  !     Don't  tell  me  that !  " 

"  You  love  cats,  don't  you  ?  Kitty,  Kitty,"  he  called  to 
his  fingers  an  amiable  and  womanly  looking  Maltese,  and 
taking  her  in  his  arms,  stroked  her  back,  in  face  of  the  wil- 
ful man,  and  added,  "  That  is  good ;  I  love  cats,  too  !  " 

The  strange  Phumbician  was  touched,  and,  smiling  good- 
naturedly,  he  struck  Richard  smartly  on  his  shoulders,  and 
bade  him  look  after  the  horses,  and  went  with  him  towards 
the  barn. 

"  You  love  cats,"  said  Richard;  "  and  do  you  love  noth- 
ing else  ? " 

"  I  love  to  be  odd,  —  so  get  along  !  " 

"And  nothing  more  ?  " 

"  I  love  to  hate  dogs  and  plague  folks." 

"  Do  you  not  love  this  spot,  this  hill,  this  view,  this 
water  ? " 

"  Yes,  and  because  it  plagues  folks  so  to  climb  the  hill, 
and  because  they  don't  catch  any  fish,  and  because  they  get 
ducked  in  the  water,  I  love  to  have  Mrs.  Melbourne  come 
here,  because  she  finds  so  many  things  to  fret  about ;  the 
children  will  get  cold,  or  they  will  get  drowned." 

"  You  love  cats,  and  to  plague  people  ?  " 

"  I  did  n't  say  I  loved  to  plague  people ;   but  to  see  them 


262  RICHAED   EDNEY   AND 

plague  themselves,  if  they  have  a  mind  to.  It  is  no 
business  of  mine.     I  only  give  them  the  opportunity." 

"  That  is  why  you  settled  here  ?  Come,  now,  tell  me 
the  whole." 

"  I  never  told  anybody." 

"  Tell  me." 

"  I  lost  my  wife  and  my  children,  and  I  had  none  to 
love ;  and  I  bought  here,  where  I  could  love  God  alone,  and 
let  the  world  craze  about  me  as  it  liked." 

"  Can't  you  love  me  ?  " 

"Get  along  I" 

"  Why  hate  dogs  so  ?  " 

"  My  child  was  bitten  by  one ;  don't  ask  about  that. 
She  died ;  don't  speak  of  that ;  let  me  alone  of  the  dogs." 

Climper  helped  Richard  lead  his  horses  to  the  pump ;  he 
gave  them  their  full  measure  of  oats,  then  drove  our  hero 
back  to  where  the  Family  was. 

But  Richard  could  not  find  it,  or  come  near  it;  for  the 
whole  group  was  concealed,  and  monopolized  by  certain 
strangers,  young  gentlemen  who  had  just  arrived  from  the 
city,  among  whom  were  young  Chassford  and  Glendar. 
The  entire  aspect  of  things  indicated  to  Richard  that  his 
company  was  not  wanted,  and  he  strolled  to  a  distance. 
He  did  wish  to  see  Melicent,  and  make,  as  he  thought,  a 
great  communication  to  her. 

Nor  was  Melicent  indifferent  to  Richard.  She  saw  his 
disappointed  look,  and  watched  his  retreating  steps.  She 
presentlj'-  took  the  liberty  to  leave  her  friends,  and  go  where 
he  was  sitting. 

"  I  have  discovered  the  secret  of  Climper,"  said  Richard, 
with  considerable  enthusiasm ;  and  related  what  Climper 
had  said.  "  He  has  been  smitten  by  adversity,  and  makes 
of  this  spot  a  refuge  to  his  spirit." 


THE    governor's   FAMILY.  263 

Melicent  looked  at  Richard  incredulously,  and  then  with 
an  expression  of  wonder. 

"  Do  you  doubt  what  I  say  ?"  asked  Richard. 

"  I  am  only  surprised  to  hear  you  say  it." 

"  If  it  be  true  — '' 

"  Yes  ;  —  but  that  you  should  discover  it." 

"  Why  should  I  not  ? " 

'•  Why  should  you  not  ?  Only  I  did  not  think  it  of  you." 
She  gave  Richard  another  direct  look,  —  one  of  so  fixed  and 
searching  a  nature,  that  he  started  and  said,  "  I  hope  I  have 
done  no  wrong." 

"  None  at  all,"  she  replied,  and  caught  a  Iwig  of  the  tree, 
which  she  tore  off  and  flung  away  with  great  apparent  in- 
difference. 

Richard,  not  wholly  at  his  ease,  was  yet  sufficiently  dis- 
embarrassed to  say,  "  This  place  is  a  Hermitage,  —  a  queer 
one ;  but  shall  we  not  call  it  so  ?  My  Teacher  used  to  say 
we  ought  to  give  pleasant  names  to  pleasant  places." 

"  Call  it  Mystery,"  she  said. 

"  Nay,"  replied  Richard,  as  the  little  children  chased  their 
Grandfather  in  and  out  among  the  trees,  full  of  gambol,  and 
breathlessness,  and  joy,  "let  us  call  it  Merrywater." 

"  Climper  will  not  like  that." 

"  I  will  make  him  like  it.  He  shall  pull  down  his  pres- 
ent sign,  and  run  up  another." 

"  Will  you  be  kind  enough  to  see  that  my  horse  is  rubbed 
down,  and  grained,  and  put  into  my  phaeton,  when  we  start, 
young  man  ? "  said  Glendar,  who  approached  at  this  mo- 
ment, and  threw  a  quarter  to  Richard.  "  I  will,"  replied 
Richard,  picking  up  the  money,  and  going  off. 

The  bell  rang  for  supper,  and  the  party  was  soon  seated 
around  the  sumptuous  tables  of  Climper.  Chassford  took 
care  of  Barbara,  Glendar  of  Melicent,  and  the  Governor  and 


264  RICHARD   EDNEY,    ETC. 

Climper  of  the  whole.  There  were  nice  fried,  white  perch, 
and  crisp,  savory  pork;  piles  of  bread,  white  and  light; 
yellow  and  sweet  butter;  bowls  of  strawberries,  and  pitchers 
of  cream ;  cake  of  all  sorts ;  and  the  Family  were  hungry 
and  merry.  Climper  loved  to  plague  people ;  and  Mrs.  Mel- 
bourne eschewed  gingerbread,  but  Climper  would  make  her 
eat  his  gingerbread.  Madam  was  sometimes  delicate  in 
her  meals,  but  he  made  her  eat ;  and  those  that  loved  to  eat, 
he  would  force  to  eat  more  than  they  ought  to ;  and  so  he 
plagued  them  all.  If  mouths  watered  for  the  strawberries, 
the  strawberries  seemed  to  water  for  the  mouths,  and  the 
cream  foamed  for  the  strawberries  ;  the  bread  was  piled  up 
high,  on  purpose  to  fall  easily  into  the  hand ;  and  the  pies 
were  in  large  plates,  on  purpose  to  go  off  in  large  pieces. 
Climper's  servants  were  at  hand,  with  smoking  cups  of  tea ; 
and  it  was  as  if  Climper,  out  of  this  abundance  of  good 
things,  had  determined  to  destroy  them  all. 

The  sun  was  going  down  when  Climper  shut  the  coach 
door,  flung  up  the  steps,  and  cried  to  Richard  to  be  off  with 
his  load. 

Barbara  was  timid,  and  did  not  like  the  omnibus,  and  was 
persuaded  to  resign  herself  to  Chassford  and  his  buggy. 

Glendar  attempted  the  same  arrangement  wiih  Melicent, 
but  failed  ;  and  she  rode  home  as  she  had  come  out,  —  on 
the  box,  with  Richard. 

They  returned  safely  to  Woodylin.  IMelicent,  with  ap- 
parent sincerity  and  good  intention,  invited  Richard  to  call 
at  her  father's.  Nay,  more,  —  Madam  herself,  to  the 
amazement  of  all,  asked  him  to  tea  on  a  specified  evening. 


CHAPTER    XXIII, 

AVE    DO    NOT    KNOW 

What  is  before  us ;  and  Richard  did  not  know  what  was 
before  him.  Yet  Miss  Plumy  Alicia  Eyre  was  before 
Ricliard  ;  her  dark,  thrilling  eye  was  before  him ;  her  pale, 
pensive,  earnest  face  was  before  him ;  so  was  her  searching, 
pleading,  piteous  heart.  But  did  Richard  really  know  what 
was  before  him?  Was  not  the  future  hidden  from  him,  and 
was  not  the  present  even  partially  veiled  ? 

But  with  his  body's  eye  he  only  saw  Miss  Eyre ;  and 
with  his  mind's  eye,  if  he  had  striven  to  look  another  way 
he  could  not,  for  she  tyrannized  over  that  too. 

Miss  Eyre  was  intimate  at  Munk's,  and  she  brought  fruit 
and  candies  to  the  children.  Moreover,  Richard  had  been 
sick  two  or  three  days,  and  Miss  Eyre  frequently  called, 
exhibiting  the  gentlest  sympathy.  She  brought  cordials  to 
his  bed-side ;  she  spelled  Roxy  in  the  kitchen,  while  she 
watched  Avith  her  brother. 

But  Miss  Eyre,  as  these  pages  have  had  occasion  to 
record,  was  unsphered,  unhomed.  In  this  she  was  to  be 
pitied. 

Moreover,  she  lacked  a  contented  mind ;  she  would  not 
submit  to  the  orderings  of  Providence,  or  the  inevitabilities 
of  fortune.  She  was  too  ambitious  to  be  useful;  too  confi- 
dent to  be  wise ;  too  bad  to  be  good.  She  was  too  reckless 
either  to  improve  advantage  or  support  evil.  Here  she 
was  to  blame. 

A  little  true  humility,  —  even  common  candor  of  feeling, 
23 


266  EICHAKD   EDNEY,    ETC. 

—  a  grain  of  piety,  would  have  saved  lier  from  the  agitation 
she  was  in,  and  the  extremity  to  which  she  was  tending. 

Even  now,  Miss  Eyre,  with  all  that  you  have  suffered 
still  burdening  your  memory,  with  all  the  lacerations  of 
sorrow  yet  fresh  in  your  heart,  may  we  not  ask  you  if  you 
ought  not  to  have  been  more  considerate,  —  if  some  sugges- 
tions of  reason,  humanity  or  religion,  ought  not  to  have  re- 
strained you  ?  Do  not  lay  all  the  blame  on  others,  but  ask 
your  own  soul  if  you  can  fully  justify  yourself. 

Plumy  Alicia  appealed  to  the  sympathies  of  Richard  ;  she 
thrilled  every  commiserant  fibre  within  him;  her  anguish, 
like  a  troubled  wave,  beat  upon  him ,  her  description  of  her- 
self awakened  his  tenderness,  while  with  consummate  nicety 
she  concealed  her  design  to  do  so.  Her  ministry  to  Richard 
when  he  was  sick,  she  knew,  had  established  a  place  for  her 
in  his  gratitude ;  she  had  imparted  some  intimate  matters  to 
him,  —  a  movement  which,  while  it  secures  confidence,  in- 
spires self-esteem.  She  laid  her  hand  upon  his  ;  he  could  not 
repudiate  the  familiarity,  because  by  that  act  she  seemed  to 
be  discharging  upon  one  stronger  than  herself  a  load  of 
sensation  too  heavy  for  her  to  bear.  She  looked  into  his 
eye,  but  only  to  assure  him  how  sad  and  heavy  her  own 
was. 

"  Do  not  say  that  you  love  me,"  she  said ;  "  I  do  not  wish 
you  to  say  that ;"  —  she  did  wish  it,  nevertheless.  "  Kiss 
me,  and  I  go,  —  go  with  one  assurance  of  friendship  and 
happiness,  which,  if  it  be  all  that  is  allowed  me,  will  be  a 
precious  keepsake  forever."  She  said  this  with  her  warm 
breath  pulsating  on  his  face. 


CHAPTER    XXIV. 

RICHARD    RETURNS    TO    THE    SAW-MILL. 

The  Dam  in  due  time  was  repaired ;  the  Factories  and 
Saw-mills  resuiTied  operations,  and  the  life  and  activity,  rat- 
tle and  clatter,  that  attach  to  extensive  mechanical  works, 
once  more  resounded. 

But  Saw  No.  1  —  Richard's  appropriate  field  of  action  — 
was  dead.  Captain  Creamer  had  failed ;  the  breach  in  the 
Dam  ruined  him.  Richard,  Mr.  Gouch,  Silver,  and  the  rest 
of  the  gang,  gathered  at  their  old  resort;  but  there  was  no 
one  to  employ  them.  None  appeared,  to  rent  the  saw.  The 
Corporation,  rather  than  that  the  instrument  should  lie  idle, 
offered  to  stock  it,  and  let  it  by  the  thousand,  if  the  original 
hands,  of  whose  ability  and  fidelity  they  had  proof,  would 
take  it.  A  bargain  was  soon  struck.  Mr.  Gouch  and 
the  others  retained  their  several  posts,  whilst,  by  unani- 
mous consent,  it  was  arranged  that  Richard  should  assume 
the  superA-ision  of  the  concern.  An  honor  to  our  hero  ! 
For  this  office,  it  was  evident  to  his  fellows,  he  was  well 
qualified,  and  to  it  all  were  happy  in  raising  him.  His 
readiness  in  figures,  his  judgment  of  timber,  the  accu- 
racy and  economy  with  which  he  could  answer  an  order, 
his  familiarity  with  the  several  branches  of  work,  —  what 
had  become  obvious  during  the  winter,  —  united  to  never- 
failing  vigilance  and  sagacity,  and  great  kindliness  of 
feeling  and  urbanity  of  intercourse,  rendered  the  choice  of 
the  company  as  easy  to  themselves  as  it  was  flattering  to 
him.     His  wages  advanced  with  his  responsibility  ;  and,  if 


268  RICHARD   EDNEY   AND 

his  labor  was  less  manual,  his  duties  were  not  less  arduous 
and  exacting. 

Clover  was  missing,  — an  absence  which  none  regretted. 

Affairs  moved  on  harmoniously  and  prosperously.  Mr. 
Gouch,  unabashed  by  the  presence  of  Clover,  grew  a  firmer 
and  more  resolute  man.  Silver  was  silent  and  glum,  but 
not  spiteful  or  rude.  All  the  men  had  their  weaknesses,  as 
well  as  their  strength,  and  sport  was  too  nimble  and  too 
needful  to  be  subdued  by  toil.  There  is  no  humor  so 
genial,  no  gayety  so  inspiring,  as  that  which  is  awakened 
among  good-natured,  hard-laboring  men. 

Summer  was  upon  them,  with  its  softening  and  expanding 
influences ;  —  the  great  doors  stood  open,  —  the  breeze  was 
welcome,  —  the  roar  of  the  Dam,  which  had  been  sharp 
and  hard  in  winter,  grew  round,  limpid,  melting,  —  the 
rumbling  of  the  wheels  in  the  pit,  the  screeching  of  the 
saws,  all  acknowledged  the  return  of  a  milder  dispensation. 

The  signs  of  business  about  the  premises  were  not  a  little 
pleasing;  teams  hurrying  to  and  fro,  the  cries  of  the  team- 
sters, wheels  laden  with  boards,  carts  filled  with  refuse, 
and  whatever  indicated  rapid  exchange  and  a  thriving 
season. 

In  transacting  the  affairs  of  the  concern,  Eichard  came 
in  contact  with  a  variety  of  individuals  in  the  city,  —  lum- 
ber dealers,  carpenters,  and  such  as  were  engaged  in  the 
erection  of  houses.  He  did  a  large  amount  of  what  is  called 
custom  work.   . 

In  all  things  his  honesty  and  intelligence  were  of  use  to 
him.  He  had  been  in  the  forest,  studied  trees,  and  investi- 
gated the  kinds  and  properties  of  wood.  The  hard  and 
the  soft,  the  new  and  the  seasoned,  —  what  will  bear  the 
weather  and  what  must  be  protected,  —  what  is  adapted  to 
one  end  and  what  to  another,  —  were  familiar  matters.     In 


THE  governor's  FAMILY.  269 

manifold  particulars,  his  opinion  was  sought,  and  his  advice 
followed. 

During  the  summer,  Richard  and  Nefon,  the  Bookseller, 
became  better  acquainted ;  and  the  more  they  became 
acquainted,  the  better  they  liked  each  other;  as  if  the  non- 
acquaintance  of  man  with  man  were  not  at  the  foundation 
of  nine  tenths  of  mortal  dislikes !  Now,  Nefon  applied  to 
Richard  to  take  a  class  in  the  Sunday-school,  of  which  he 
was  Superintendent.  Richard,  with  natural  distrust  of 
his  abilities,  yet  obedient  to  the  rule  he  had  adopted  as  the 
supreme  guide  of  life,  to  do  good,  replied  that  he  would  be 
glad  to  do  so.  But  an  obstacle  intervened,  which  seemed 
at  first  sight  not  easy  to  be  surmounted.  His  sister  feared 
such  a  step  would  alienate  him  from  the  church  she  attend 
ed,  and  consign  him  remedilessly  to  Parson  Smith's.  Rich 
ard  declared  that  no  position  of  this  sort  in  the  Church  of 
the  Redemption  should  bind  him  to  its  authority  or  its  infiu 
ence,  beyond  the  plain  teachings  of  the  New  Testament 
Eoxy  promised  him  her  prayers,  —  albeit  she  could  not 
yield  him  her  blessing,  as  he  entered  upon  this  novel  duty 
To  his  class  he  added  certain  boys,  whose  abodes  were 
the  shores  of  the  River,  the  Islands,  and  the  neglected 
quarters  of  the  New  Town,  and  whom  he  had  seen  playing 
the  vagrant  or  the  thief  about  the  Mills;  and  had  the  satis- 
faction of  finding  them  punctual  and  interested,  and  of 
recording  their  progress  in  divine  knowledge. 
23* 


CHAPTER    XXV. 

HE    VISITS    THE    GOVEEXOR's. 

Among  the  events  of  not  a  little  interest  in  this  season's 
experience  was  Richard's  appointment  with  Madam  Ben- 
nington. He  ascended  the  Governor's  piazza  and  pulled  at 
the  bell-handle  with  a  slight  palpitation  of  the  heart ;  and 
the  servant  who  ushered  him  in  might  have  noticed  a  cer- 
tain rusticity  in  his  manner. 

IMadam  received  him  with  grace  and  dignity.  Melicent 
and  Barbara  took  his  hand  in  a  cordial  way.  With  the 
Governor,  whose  greatness  of  mind  and  force  of  character 
were  alwaj- s  at  the  command  of  courtesy  and  kindness,  and 
replete  with  the  minor  social  instincts,  he  was  quite  at  ease. 
Cousin  Rowena  was  particularly  complacent.  There  was 
cause  for  this.  Mrs.  Blelbourne  rallied  strong  against  Rich- 
ard, when  she  found  attention  to  the  Sawyer  going  so  far  as 
a  summons  to  a  social  family  gathering.  Not  that  she  had 
anything  against  Richard;  only,  —  she  could  hardly  tell 
what.  This  was  enough  for  Cousin,  who  thought  the  aver- 
sion unreasonable,  and  was  easily  inclined  to  protect  Rich- 
ard from  it. 

Tea  was  carried  round.  Were  Richard's  nerves  a  little 
wanton,  and  his  hand  a  little  clumsy  ?  What  with  cup  and 
saucer  on  his  knees,  and  waiter  with  sugar  and  cream, 
waiter  with  sandwiches  and  cheese,  waiter  with  dough-nuts 
and  cake,  and  the  gradual  filling  up  of  the  narrow  rim  of 
the  only  receptacle  for  this  endless  enumeration,  and  his 
own  desire  to  be  polite,  and  his  fear  that  he  should  not  be, 


RICHARD  EDNEY,  ETC.  271 

and  Mrs.  Melbourne  and  Miss  Kowena  both  watching  him 
so  closely,  —  it  was  not  strange  there  should  be  a  downfall 
both  of  bread  and  of  feeling.  But  Cousin  Rowena  picked 
up  the  fragments,  and  bit  her  lip. 

The  Governor's  Family  owed  something  to  Richard,  and 
they  were  disposed  to  requite  in  full,  and  that  in  modes 
at  once  delicate  and  honorable.  Roscoe  talked  with  him  on 
farming ;  Rasle  joked  with  him ;  Barbara  showed  him  the 
library  and  pictures;  Eunice  played  to  him;  Melicent 
walked  with  him  in  the  garden. 

But  would  these  parties  square  accounts,  and  be  off? 
Was  this  the  purpose  and  upshot  of  their  interview  ?  Was 
there  no  common  ground  of  humanity  or  religion,  —  no  con- 
sentaneousness  of  thought  or  feeling,  —  no  grandeur  of 
moral  aim,  —  no  depth  of  character,  —  no  aspiration  for 
ideal  progress,  —  no  accidental  revelations  of  approved  state 
and  being,  which  might  suggest  a  perpetuity  of  acquaint- 
ance, and  even  protract  remembrance  when  calls  were  ended  ? 

In  evidence  that  the  invitation  to  Richard  did  not  spring 
from  merely  personal  and  private  regards,  but  belonged  to  a 
more  expansive  and  general  circle  of  social  sentiments  on 
the  part  of  the  Family,  other  guests,  obviously  by  invitation, 
came  in  the  evening.  There  were  the  Mayor  Langreen, 
the  Redfernes  of  Victoria  Square,  the  Lady  Caroline,  young 
Chassford,  Glendar,  and  other  ladies  and  gentlemen. 

Richard  was  in  the  centre,  and,  we  might  say,  in  the 
centre  of  the  centre,  of  the  nobility  of  wealth,  office  and  cul- 
ture, and,  if  the  worthy  Dressmaker  aforesaid  is  to  be  trust- 
ed, of  the  common  se?ise,  of  Woodylin.  How  did  he  carry 
himself?  He  had  heard  his  beloved  Pastor  speak  of  God's 
and  nature's  noblemen,  and  perhaps  sometimes  thought  he 
was  as  good  an  one  as  any.  He  had  heard  from  the  lips  of 
his  respected  Teacher,  and  was  himself  sufficiently  versed 


272  RICHARD   EDXEY    AND 

in  g-eographj''  and  history  to  know,  that  in  some  countries 
the  nobilitj'  are  distinguished  by  feathers  in  their  caps,  in 
others  by  riding  in  coaches ;  in  some  by  a  red  patch  on  the 
cheek,  in  others  by  a  gilt  sword ;  and  that  it  was  once  the 
law  that  any  man  who  had  made  three  voyages  round  the 
world  should  be  knighted.  But  what  did  his  knowledge 
and  convictions  avail  him  now  ?  His  favorite  feeling,  that 
he  was  as  good  as  anybody,  —  his  indomitable  resolution  to 
cower  to  no  man,  and  be  confounded  by  no  woman,  even 
Pastor  Harold  with  his  sacred  gown,  and  Teacher  Willwell 
with  his  impressive  spectacles,  —  vanished  from  his  recollec- 
tion, and  wavered  in  his  hold ;  and  he  felt  himself  amidst 
these  people,  shivering,  like  a  ship  suddenly  brought  to,  with 
all  sails  in  the  wind.  He  was  fidgety,  wandering,  purblind. 
He  stood  face  to  face,  and  shoulder  to  shoulder,  with  these 
people,  not  one  of  whom  wore  a  sword,  or  had  more  feath- 
ers in  his  cap,  or  rode  in  better  coaches,  or  had  made  more 
voyages  round  the  world,  than  he ;  yet  he  was  not  at  ease. 
To  be  in  the  centre  of  the  Family  and  its  appendages,  and 
compose  one  of  its  associates  at  an  evening  reiinion,  was  a 
different  thing  from  having  them,  as  we  have  said,  under 
his  thumb,  and  driving  them  in  an  omnibus.  With  entire 
self-possession,  leaning  on  a  cant-dog,  he  could  talk  with 
Melicent  and  Barbara  in  the  Mill.  Having  nothing  for  his 
muscular  hands  to  clutch,  how  could  he  talk  in  that  draw- 
ing-room? Calm  and  cool,  on  a  certain  occasion,  he  seized 
the  Governor,  and  lifted  him  bodily  out  of  watery  peril ;  yet 
an  introduction  to  the  Governor's  niece  made  him  shake  like 
an  aspen.  He  could  take  his  turn  at  bowls  or  a  dance  with 
the  best  of  them ;  but,  alas  for  the  imperfections  of  human 
nature,  he  was  not  adequate  to  the  demands  of  this  social 
hour ! 

Still,  Eichard's  weakness  was  sustained  and  relieved  by 


THE  governor's  FAMILY.  273 

the  intelligent  and  charitable  experience  of  the  Family,  and 
he  was  borne  in  tolerable  condition  through  the  shoals  and 
breakers  of  first  encounter  with  high  life. 

The  cardinal  maxim  of  his  Teacher,  that  he  must  inquire 
the  use  of,  and  derive  wisdom  from,  every  new  thing  he  saw, 
he  was  too  agitated  to  apply.  It  was  as  much  as  he  could 
do  to  be  there,  without  asking  why  he  was  there.  If  he  had 
gone  on  to  asking  questions,  he  would,  peradventure,  have 
startled  points  of  a  still  lower  deep,  that  would  choke  and 
flurry  him  far  more  than  the  superficial  aspects  of  the  case  did. 

In  that  something  which  goes  by  the  name  of  high  life,  or 
good  society,  is  what  pesters  inquiry  as  much  as  it  eludes 
attempt.  When  it  is  said  of  one,  he  is  aspiring,  or  of 
another,  he  looks  down  upon  us,  what  is  implied  but  that 
there  is  a  something  above,  which  the  first  has  not  reached, 
and  which,  to  the  last,  is  an  attainment  and  a  power? 
There  is  an  Idea  in  it ;  —  that  idea  is  supreme  excellence  ; 
or,  in  that  height  is  centred,  and  by  it  evermore  is  sym- 
bolized, the  sum  of  what,  in  a  given  community,  or  country, 
or  age,  is  deemed  most  valuable.  There  is  a  divinity  in  it, 
—  it  is  an  order  of  God.  Wealth  and  office  are  not  it; 
they  are  subsidiary  to  its  plan,  and  typify  some  of  its  results ; 
and  are,  remotely,  a  means  of  reaching  it.  Height,  excel- 
lence, superiority,  are  indeed  tantamount  and  convertible 
terms ;  and  imply,  respectively,  that  precious  something, 
which  .makes  us  feel  poor  and  mean  without  it,  and  ever- 
more hangs  out  to  us  its  banner  of  hope,  and  is  an  ultimate 
desire  of  the  mind.  If  my  neighbor  slights  me,  he  makes 
me  feel  he  has  something  which  I  have  not ;  and  I  either 
sink  into  a  brutish  state  of  envy,  or  resolve  to  gain  that 
which  shall  make  me  his  equal.  Dr.  Broadwell  is  in  good 
society  partly  by  position;  his  position  being  that  which 
implies  the  requisites  of  good  society.     Mrs.  Tunny  means 


274  RICHARD   EDNET   AND 

to  get  into  it  by  the  wealth  of  her  husband ;  but  that  will 
depend  wholly  upon  how  he  uses  his  wealth.  Melicent  —  no 
thanks  to  her  —  is  born  in  it ;  therefore  her  responsibility  is 
greater.  If  Richard  shall  be  established  in  it,  it  will  be  by 
hjs  virtues.  Fashion  sometimes  sets  up  for  good  society  in 
its  own  name ;  but  this  is  simply  a  mimicking  of  the  great 
Idea,  and  an  attempt  to  get  in  by  some  other  way.  In 
America,  since  what  constitutes  the.  best  society  is  not  de- 
termined by  Court,  it  is  determined  by  ideas  ;  and  around 
and  toward  these  ideas  is  the  community  in  city  and  coun- 
try always  gravitating.  Primary  instinct  will  in  the  end  be 
found  as  absolute  as  historical  precedent.  That  is  a  wise 
and  righteous  government  which  affords  to  ability  the  free 
opportunity  of  rising  to  its  proper  height.  Good  society  is 
therefore  not  only  a  measure,  but  a  crown,  of  exertion. 

After  all,  that  is  the  best  society  which  God  loves  most  ; 
and  among  a  depraved  people  much  will  pass  for  good 
society  which  is  really  bad. 

Richard  was  at  his  ease  in  the  Saw-mill,  and  at  Mrs. 
Tunny's  party,  and  at  a  public  meeting;  but  he  was  not  at 
the  Governor's.  That  mystic  something  which  others  pos- 
sessed, he  was  conscious  of  lacking ;  and  he  might  have 
retired  in  great  disquiet,  if  Cousin  Rowena  had  not  support- 
ed his  flickering  courage.  He  told  her  that  he  loved  music, 
and  she  ordered  the  young  ladies  to  sing.  This  tranquil- 
lized him,  because  it  equalized  him  with  the  rest.  He  had 
a  good  voice,' and  well  modulated,  not  to  troubadour  songs, 
but  to  pieces  of  a  different  description.  Sacred  melodies 
were  familiar  to  him ;  and  he  sang  one,  popularly  known  as 
a  pennyroyal  hymn,  —  a  measure  that  combines  unction 
and  vivacity.     It  was  well  received,  and  he  was  pleased. 

But,  ever  and  anon,  in  course  of  the  evening,  —  whether 
it  was  owing  to  the  heat  of  the  room,  or  the  proximity  of 


THE    GOVEKNOK's    FAMILY.  275 

unfavorable  comparison,  or  the  rapid  transition  of  unaccus- 
tomed persons  and  topics,  or  his  own  effort  to  divest  himself 
of  what  he  most  dreaded,  —  his  perceptions  clouded,  and 
his  language  tripped ;  his  hands  swelled,  and  his  face  burnt. 
He  was  glad  to  find  an  open  door,  and  disburthen  himself 
to  a  draft  of  air.  Blessings  on  the  wind,  that  did  for  Rich- 
ard what  the  Governor's  Family,  with  its  opulence,  its 
beauty,  its  breeding,  could  not  do  !  Melicent  joined  him  on 
the  piazza  ;  and  Richard,  being  himself  again,  could  converse 
and  behave  more  to  his  satisfaction. 

Richard  was  honest,  and  had  a  heart,  and  spoke  of  things 
that  he  loved  most  to  those  who  loved  to  hear  them.  Meli- 
cent answered  to  the  same  description ;  and  as  there  were 
many  things  in  both  their  hearts  alike,  it  was  natural  they 
should  get  up  quite  an  interchange  of  sentiment  on  cher- 
ished and  pleasant  topics. 

Correspondence  of  sentiment,  connected  as  it  often  is 
with  correspondence  of  aim,  is  wont  to  lead  to  harmony  of 
feeling  and  mutuality  of  interest ;  and  Melicent  left  Richard, 
with  a  strong  desire  to  know  more  of  him,  and  be  more  with 
him. 

Richard  went  home  that  night  burthened  with  reflections  ; 
at  one  moment  reproaching  himself  for  pusillanimity  and 
weakness,  —  at  another,  questioning  the  authority  of  that 
which  exerted  so  strong  a  spell  over  him  during  the  even- 
ing; but  after  vibrating  between  several  disagreeable  and 
disjointed  subjects,  he  settled  at  last  upon  thinking  about 
Melicent.  In  her  he  saw  exaltation  without  arrogance, 
purity  without  demureness,  tenderness  without  insipidity, 
piety  and  no  cant,  beauty  and  no  affectation,  common  sense 
and  yet  great  ardor  and  hope. 

For  the  second  time  was  he  brought  to  the  direct  and 
intense  contemplation  of  Melicent ;  and  that  in  the  night, — 


276  EICHAKD   EDNEY,    ETC. 

that  with  the  glare  and  surroundings  of  the  day  withdrawn. 
He  had  formerly  thought  of  her  as  the  Governor's  daughter, 
—  beheld  in  her  a  wonderful  instance  of  human  and  female 
excellence,  and  admired  the  contrast  she  afforded  to  what 
sometimes  appears  a  dark  back-ground  of  aristocracy,  pride 
of  wealth,  and  meanness  of  station.  He  now  thought  of  her 
as  Melicent ;  she  was  individualized  to  his  imagination,  — 
she  was  beginning  to  stand  out  alone  in  the  universe  to  his 
eye ;  vapors  or  shadowy  emptiness  separated  her  from  all 
others,  —  an  embarrassing,  a  hazardous  state  of  affairs  to  a 
young  man.  But,  before  he  slept,  the  natural  order  of 
things  was  restored, —  her  own  proper  world  surrounded 
and  absorbed  her ;  and  his  own  world,  —  his  Saw-mill  and 
his  rusticity,  —  came  and  took  him  off. 


CHAPTER   XXVI, 


HOUSEHOLD    WORDS. 


Richard's  chief  joy  was  his  nieces  ;  and  his  Sundays,  and 
meal-times,  and  evenings,  that  gave  him  to  them.  He 
played  with  them,  and  they  made  a  child  of  him ;  nay, 
they  made  less  than  that ;  they  used  him  as  if  he  had  been 
a  giant  moppet  in  whiskers,  and  tumbled  him  about  like  a 
man  of  straw.  He  was  the  child,  and  they  were  the  mas- 
ters. He  must  listen  to  their  wants,  obey  their  commands, 
bide  their  caprices,  go  where  they  wished,  do  what  they 
ordered  ;  they  climbed  up  his  chair,  tore  at  his  legs,  rode 
on  his  back,  pilfered  his  pockets,  hid  his  boots.  He  brought 
blocks  for  them  to  build  houses  with,  allotted  a  quarter  of 
the  garden  for  their  agricultural  operations,  put  up  a  swing 
for  them  on  the  willow-tree.  Sundays,  after  church,  he 
went  with  them  to  Bill  Stonners'  Point,  to  see  Chuk,  and 
through  the  woods  to  Mysie's,  He  filled  their  baskets  with 
box-berries  and  partridge-berries,  and  adorned  their  hats 
with  belhvorts  and  laurels.  To  Chuk  the  children  were 
an  intelligence,  —  an  incantation,  —  a  glimmering  of  long- 
lost  ideas.     Mysie  showed  them  her  cats  and  cows. 

To  add  to  the  wonders,  —  a  wonder  it  was  to  Memmy, 
and  a  real  wonder  it  might  be  to  the  universe,  —  Bebby  be- 
gan to  talk  !  The  teeth  came,  and  the  talk  would  soon  fol- 
low. This  was  Memmy's  philosophy;  and  is  it  not  as 
good  as  anybody's  ?  Who  can  explain  the  mystery  of 
speech  ?  Is  it  not  God's  miracle  ?  To  witness  this  dull 
clay  putting  itself  into  tune, —  to  see  unconscious  muscle 
24 


278  KICHAKD  EDNEY   AND. 

adapting  itself  to  articulation ;  ideas  seizing  upon  corruptible 
flesh  and  blood,  and  converting  it  into  a  living  organism  ; 
to  hear  the  short  words,  and  the  half-uttered  long  words, 
and  the  endeavors  after  impossible  words ;  and  how  innu- 
merable things  seem,  like  bees  about  a  hive,  to  fly  about  the 
lips  of  the  child,  — some  going  in,  some  crawling  on  the  edge, 
and  some  falling  back,  and  all  keeping  up  such  a  buzz ;  — 
oh,  these  ivere  new  things,  and  well  worth  reporting  to  Mas- 
ter Willwell !  And  how  Bebby's  eyes  would  strain  when 
she  tried  to  say  something,  and  twinkle  when  she  had  said 
something ;  and  Memmy's  would  twinkle  too,  and  so  would 
Roxy's  and  Munk's,  and  the  twinkle  would  be  contagious, 
and  go  all  round  the  room.     This  was  pleasant. 

And  what  would  the  child  say?  what  would  be  the  first 
utterance  of  that  which  from  eternity  had  been  silent,  or 
which  from  other  worlds  had  come  to  take  up  its  abode  in 
this  ?  What  incipiency  from  the  mystic  depth  of  things 
would  start  into  being?  It  was  "  mamma  "  and  "  pn pa." 
These  were  the  first  shoots  from  that  thaumatergical  seed- 
bed, which  was' ultimately  to  produce  such  harvests  of  prat- 
tle, ratiocination,  poetry,  and  newspapers  ;  —  whereon  would 
that  the  dews  of  divine  grace  might  descend,  and  adorn 
them  with  heavenly  beauty  and  sweetest  charity ! 

She  ere  long  perpetrated  those  dreadful  words,  "  I  will," 
and  "  I  won't;"  as  if  it  were  a  crime  to  practise  volition,  and 
presumption  insupportable  to  be  supposed  capable  of  the  pre- 
rogative of  free-agency,  or  to  have  any  preference  or  aver- 
sion. "  Say  'I  had  rather  not,'  "  enjoined  the  mother.  "I 
won't ! "  answered  the  child.  "  You-will,  won't  you  ?  "  pleaded 
the  mother.  "  I  wont !  "  reechoed  the  child.  Roxy  turned 
to  her  husband,  and  seemed  to  relieve  her  sorrow,  saying, 
"  It  is  just  as  I  always  said,  and  what  Elder  Jabson  teaches  : 
Children  are  wicked."     "  Bebby  wicked  !  "  said  Munk,  stop- 


THE    governor's    FAMILY.  279 

ping  what  he  was  at  —  washing  his  face  at  the  sink  —  and 
looking-  round. 

"  Bebby  is  wicked."  Roxy  said  this,  and  was  serene 
again. 

There  is  the  nativity  of  ideas  as  well  as  words  ;  and  Rich- 
ard, being  bound  to  inspect  everything  new,  considered  of 
this  also.  Whether  our  ideas,  for  instance,  of  love  and  of 
goodness,  have  a  spiritual  or  material  source,  was  a  ques- 
tion on  which  Master  Wilhvell  philanthropically  descanted. 
"  You  love  Papa  and  Mamma,"  said  he  to  Memmy,  in  a  sort 
of  leading  way ;  "  and  whom  else  ?  "  "I  love,"  replied  the 
child,  "  Bebby,  and  Uncle  Rkhard,  and  —  and  —  pussy,  and 
peaches."  He  had  a  peach  in  his  hand.  "  Why  do  you 
love  peaches  ?  "  He  asked  this  in  a  playful  manner,  indeed, 
but  with  earnestness  of  thought.  "  Because  they  are  good," 
was  the  brief,  yet,  to  the  child,  very  complete,  reply.  "  And 
you  love  Papa  because  he  is  good  ?  "  The  child  assented. 
This  was  a  poser  to  Richard.  Vainly  did  he  invoke  the 
lessons  of  his  Teacher.  Was  it  one  thing  to  the  child,  — 
peaches  or  Papa  ?  Was  it  the  same  goodness,  or  the  same 
sense  of  goodness  ?  Both  yielded  pleasure.  May  it  not  be 
that  God  awakens  the  sentiment  of  goodness,  by  affording  to 
sense  and  contemplation  that  which  pleases  usi  But  there 
is  a  spiritual  susceptibility  of  pleasure,  as  well  as  material ; 
both  sets  of  instincts  were  stirred  in  the  child,  —  only  she  was 
not  old  enough  to  distinguish  between  them.  So  Richard 
found,  on  inquiry,  that  she  hated  badness,  whether  in  Tur- 
key rhubarb,  or  the  neighbor's  yelping  dog,  or  drunken 
Weasand. 

Still,  vast  as  these  problems  were,  the  children  cared  not 
a  straw  for  them  ;  they  had  rather  play  hide-and-seek  among 
the  trees  than  among  abstractions.  They  loved  play,  and 
nothing  but  play,  Roxy  insisted.     "  I  love  Manama,"  said 


280  RICHARD    EDNEY   AND 

Memmy.  "  Me  lub  Mamma,  too,"  echoed  Bebby,  as  sbe 
stalked,  with  a  made-up  air  of  mixed  pomposity  and  roguish- 
ness,  out  of  the  room.  Under  the  trees  that  Richard  had 
planted  was  their  play-ground,  and  there  they  acted  out 
what  their  mother  seemed  to  feel  was  their  unhappy  destiny, 
—  play. 

Richard  had  set  the  trees,  not  at  the  corners  of  the  yard, 
not  in  straight  lines,  but  in  groups  and  curves  ;  thus  creating 
many  little  in-and-out  places  for  caprice  and  pastime  to 
practise  in.  "  Look  at  the  children  among  the  trees,"  he 
called  to  his  sister.  She  did  look,  and  smiled.  They  were 
nothing  but  her  children,  and  these  were  nothing  but  trees ; 
they  were  children  too,  who,  in  the  house,  were  so  often  a 
sigh  on  her  heart,  or  an  annoyance  to  her  hands  ;  but  now 
they  were  pretty,  —  simply  pretty,  exquisitely  pretty.  She 
felt  this,  and  so  did  Richard ;  and  they  showed  it  by  their 
looks,  since  neither  spoke. 

Trees,  considered  as  an  avenue  for  the  eye  to  traverse, 
enhance  the  beauty  of  objects  at  the  end  of  it.  The  reader 
has  looked  through  trees  at  water  or  the  sky,  and  witnessed 
this  effect.  Nature,  like  Art,  seems  to  require  a  border,  in 
order  to  be  finished.  The  dressmaker  hems  and  ruffles ; 
the  carpenter  has  his  beads  and  pilasters  ;  the  painter  never 
rests  till  his  piece  is  framed.  This  appears  to  be  an  ulti- 
mate law.  Whether  Master  Willwell  attempted  to  explain 
it,  we  know  not.  We  do  know  he  was  wont  to  tell  his  pu- 
pils there  were  such  laws  ;  stopping-places  of  thought,  — 
dykes  in  the  seams  where  inquiry  is  ever  mining.  "  Bread," 
said  he,  "  is  bread  ;  and  that  is  the  v/hole  thing.  We  may 
say,  indeed,  it  is  a  composition  of  flour,  and  5'east,  and 
water ;  but  that  is  not  it.  Your  mother's  bread,  that  j'ou 
get,  fresh  and  warm,  every  Wednesday  afternoon,  so  sweet 
in  milk,  —  why,  it  is  a  primitive  idea  ;  it  is  bread,  and  that 


THE    governor's    FAMILY.  281 

is  all  we  know  about  bread  — "  he*  looked  down  on  the 
bench  of  little  children,  who  were  agape  to  see  whereto  so 
much  wisdom  tended,  and  added,  "  except  to  eat  it."  So, 
likewise,  he  would  expatiate  upon  toads  ;  "  A  batrachian  rep- 
tile ;  batrachia,  naked  body,  and  two  feet ;  what  is  a  toad?" 
"  We  are  all  toads  I  "  cried  the  class.  "  Clumsy,  harmless," 
Here  he  paused,  "  Little  babies  are  toads,"  answered  one 
of  the  scholars.  "  Body  warty  and  thick,"  continued  the 
teacher  ;  "  now  who  is  a  toad  ?  "  "  Peter  Tubby  ! "  cried  a 
bright  boy.  "  Yes,"  said  the  teacher,  with  an  innocent 
smile,  "Peter  Tubby  is  a  toad.  Nay,"  he  added,  "a  toad 
is  a  toad  ;  —  repeat  this  in  concert."  So  the  class  repeated 
it,  and  some  went  home  singing,  "  A  toad  is  a  toad."  If  we 
should  say,  Nature  loves  a  bordering,  as  it  used  to  be  said, 
she  abhorred  a  vacuum,  we  might  state  the  whole  truth. 
An  uninterrupted  plane,  —  continuity  of  similar  surface,  vast, 
monotonous,  silent,  —  is  intolerable.  So  a  column  must  have 
its  cap,  and  a  house  its  cornice ;  so  along  the  edge  of  the 
highway  spring  innumerable  flowers,  and  on  its  margin  the 
forest  is  lavish  of  its  foliage ;  so  the  sea  is  terminated  by  the 
sky,  and  we  look  at  the  sky  through  vistas  of  embanked 
and  woofy  cloud.  Were  you  ever  in  a  pine  grove  of  a 
bright  moonlight  night?  How  different  from  standing 
upon  a  mountain  at  such  a  time  !  We  recommend  to  any 
one  on  an  eminence,  to  go  back  from  the  brink  thereof,  and 
stand  in  the  forest,  and  look  out  through  the  breaks  and 
crevices.  A  moss-rose  is  an  instance  in  point,  —  beautiful 
because  it  is  bordered ;  it  is  a  landscape  seen  through  trees. 
A  house  in  the  midst  of  shrubbery  is  an  instance ;  so  are 
islands  in  a  pond ;  a  view  through  half-raised  window- 
curtains,  and  distant  scenery  through  a  long  suite  of  rooms; 
so  are  light  on  foregrounds  and  shadows  on  backgrounds,  in 
all  pictures.  Glens,  valleys,  a  flower  in  the  grass,  a  star  in 
2i* 


282  RICHARD   EDNEY    AND 

the  sky,  belong  to  the  same  category.  So  did  Memmy  and 
Bebby,  at  this  present  speaking;  they  were  bordered  by 
trees,  — cedars  and  birches  were  about  them,  like  curls  on  the 
face  of  fair  maiden  ;  and  one  of  Master  Willwell's  primitive 
ideas  turned  up,  —  bread  was  bread  ;  a  toad  was  a  toad  ;  the 
final  sense  was  reached,  and  Richard  and  Roxy  were  pleased. 
Then,  in  this  case,  the  children  were  on  the  go,  while  the 
bordering  kept  still ;  they  were  the  picture,  dancing  up  and 
down  in  its  frame;  they  were  the  blue  sky,  crisping  and 
rippling  behind  the  clouds.  This  great  beauty,  which  they 
were,  was  now  in  the  shadow,  now  in  the  shade ;  now  its 
straw  hat  and  ruddy  face  gleamed  through  the  green  spray, 
—  now  its  silver,  healthful  voice  carolled  in  ambuscade.  It 
ran  round  the  trees  that  made  it  so  beautiful ;  it  halted  in 
front  of  that  which  set  it  off  so  behind ;  its  fluttering  was 
seen  through  the  depth  of  the  little  copse.  A  chipping 
sparrow  sang  in  the  trees  over  it ;  Munk  sat  on  the  steps, 
and  pressed  his  arm  very  tight  about  his  wife's  waist  as 
he  beheld  it ;  passers-by  stopped  and  leaned  on  the  fence 
to  look  at  it. 

Lo  !  now  Bebby  stands  between,  and  partly  screened  by, 
two  little  cedars,  about  as  tall  as  she;  —  and  how  beautiful 
she  is  ;  what  a  joy  in  her  father's  heart;  what  a  glistening  in 
her  mother's  eyes;  what  a  ravishment  to  Richard,  all  over, 
she  is,  or  the  thing  that  she  is  !  She  is  a  moss-rose,  —  a 
rose  mossed,  —  bordered.  Is  the  beauty  herself,  or  her  cir- 
cumstances ? 

What  is  the  principle  herein  involved  ?  Some  refer  the 
interest  of  this  class  of  phenomena  to  ideas  of  Infinity.  It 
is  a  glimpse,  an  opening,  into  the  vast,  they  tell  us.  But 
why,  if  vastness  be  the  ultimate  sentiment,  is  partial  vast- 
ness  more  attractive  than  entire  ?  Why  curtain  it,  to 
heighten  the  effect  ?     What  has  Bebby 's  head,  stuck  through 


THE    governor's    FAMILY.  283 

those  trees,  to  do  with  Infinity  ?  I  should  call  it,  rather, 
Limitation.  It  is  rather  the  reduction  of  the  Infinite  to  pal- 
pable bounds,  than  an  elevation  of  the  Finite  to  the  immeas- 
urable. Bebby  runs  away.  Bebby  is  the  same  Bebby ; 
the  trees  are  the  same  trees ;  but  how  different  apart !  The 
rose  has  lost  its  moss ;  the  view  its  border.  Run  back,  little 
additament !  Throw  yourself  into  the  middle  of  the  picture, 
or  what  will  be  a  picture  when  you  get  there  !  Consent  to 
be  bordered.  Those  happy,  blue  eyes,  —  those  flocculent, 
foamy  locks,  —  were  they  ever  so  pretty?  The  pea-green, 
crinkly  little  cedars,  —  what  enchantment  they  suddenly  as- 
sume !  How  the  beaut}"^  flashes  from  one  to  the  other,  and 
centres  in  the  whole  !  How  it  vanishes  when  Bebby  quits  ! 
Memmy  had  gone  to  crawling  in  the  grass,  full  of  frolic  and 
laughter,  and  Bebby  must  do  so  too. 

"  You  will  green  your  drawers  all  up ;  come  into  the 
house  !  "  cried  their  mother. 

This  ended  the  scene. 

Parson  Smith's  and  Dr.  Broadwell's  Sunday-school  chil- 
dren and  teachers  were  planning  a  union  picnic,  combined 
whh  a  rail-road  ride  and  a  sylvan  meeting;  and  Richard 
was  going,  and  he  wanted  to  take  Memmy,  and  Memmy 
wanted  to  go ;  but  Roxy  clouded.  She  feared  what  might 
be  the  effect  of  her  children  associating  with  Parson  Smith's 
and  Dr.  Broadwell's  ;  — they  were  aristocratic  children  ;  they 
would  slight  and  deride  hers ;  Parson  Smith's  and  Dr. 
Broadwell's  people  felt  themselves  above  Elder  Jabson's,  and 
so  on.  But  she  said  to  her  husband,  and  here  she  was  more 
positive,  "  They  have  n't  clothes  fit  to  go  in,  and  you  know 
it !  "  Munk  need  not  feign  ignorance,  or  affect  to  poh  the 
matter  off;  he  was  sufficiently  conscious  of  the  state  of 
affairs.  "  Always,"  continued  his  wife,  "  something  is  a 
happening,  and  you  are  not  such  a  man  as  you  should  be  ! " 


284  HICHARD   EDNEY    AND 

"Do  you  want  me  to  change  into  another  man?  —  say  into 
Tunny,  or  Clover,  or,  if  you  like,  into  Elder  Jabson^" 
Munk  did  not  say  this  iu  his  usual,  that  is,  a  pleasant  way, 
but  in  an  irritated  way ;  he  was  roiled.  Eoxy  flung  her 
apron  over  her  eyes,  slatted  into  a  chair,  and  began  to  cry. 
There  seemed  to  be  no  coming  to  terms  now.  Munk 
knocked  his  pipe  on  the  andiron,  and  looked  into  it,  —  cool, 
—  rapped  again,  —  stinging,  —  and  when  the  ashes  were  all 
out,  he  refilled  and  lighted  it,  and  went  to  smoking,  and 
reading  the  evening  Catapult,  —  past  endurance.  "  You 
wicked  man,  you  I  "  His  wife  seemed  almost  to  gnash  at 
him.  Munk  did  not  stir.  "  I  guess  Memmy's  clothes  will 
do,"  said  Richard,  in  the  way  of  oily  interposition.  —  "I  wish 
you  would  ever  have  your  shoes  on  !  "  Roxy  addressed  this 
to  the  child,  who,  insensible  to  what  was  going  on  overhead, 
was  down  on  the  floor,  busily  divesting  herself  of  what 
clothing  she  had.  "  She  shall  have  a  new  hat,"  said  Munk. 
"It  was  a  black  beaver,  with  plumes,"  rejoined  his  wife. 
"  That  was  last  winter !  "  explained  the  other. 

"  What  if  it  was  ?  It  was  all  the  same  then  as  now. 
We  don't  have  anything  !  I  wanted  a  Thibet  shawl,  small 
figured,  and  you  were  not  willing.  Mrs.  Xyphers  had  an  am- 
eline  at  Tunny's  ;  and  what  was  I,  what  was  I  ?  Bobbin  & 
Shally  advertise  forty  kinds  of  silks ;  and  all  of  Dr.  Broad- 
well's  folks  are  in  there,  —  I  have  seen  it  with  my  own  eyes ! 
The  parlor  curtains  I  am  ashamed  of!  Mrs. Tunny  says, 
have  silk  damask  and  tulip  pins,  and  would  have  if  you 
were  worth  as  much  as  you  are ;  and  you  are  !  Memmy 
might  have  a  China  pearl !  "  An  explosion  ;  Munk  stood 
the  shock  tolerably  well.  "Memmy  shall  have  a  China  pearl, 
if  that  will  satisfy  you."  "  If  that  will  satisfy  me,  —  as  if 
you  had  no  feeling,  and  no  sense  of  things,  of  yourself,  — 
as  if  all  the  blame  must  fall  on  me !     Mrs.  Mellow  is  a 


THE    governor's    FAMILY.  285 

woman  and  a  Christian,  if  there  ever  was  one !  And  her 
house  don't  look  like  this  ;  and  I  know  what  she  thinks  when 
she  is  here,  though  she  don't  say  anything!  " 

Here  was  a  cloud,  and  a  shower ;  and  Richard  was  afraid 
the  children  would  get  wet.  "  Do  not  say  all  this  before 
them,"  he  interceded. 

"  Yes,  before  them  !  "  rejoined  his  sister.  "  They  shall 
know  what  a  suffering  mother  they  have !  I  wish  I  was  dead ! " 

Memmy  screamed,  and  Bebby  screamed  in  sympathy; 
Munk  groaned,  his  wife  sobbed.  Richard  took  the  children 
out  doors. 

The  upshot  of  the  matter  was  a  compromise;  Roxy  con- 
sented to  let  Memmy  go  to  the  picnic,  and  Munk  agreed 
that  his  wife  should  have  a  fashionable  dress. 

In  great  spirits,  of  a  clear  morning,  the  children  filed  to 
the  depot  and  entered  the  cars.  They  rode  on  the  banks  of 
the  River,  that  now  afforded  lively  glimpses  through  the 
trees,  now  exposed  its  broad  Siloam  face,  now  withdrew 
behind  leafy  headlands.  They  passed  lumber-laden  sloops, 
steamboats,  and  merchandise  packets.  They  went  through 
pretty  towns,  fruitful  farms,  and  cool  woods.  They  unloaded 
at  Sunny  Hours,  a  grove  so  called.  Here  recreation  enforced 
itself,  charity  found  its  sphere,  harmony  attended  freedom, 
innocency  sanctified  mirth ;  clean  grass  and  breezy  shades 
inspired  exertion,  and  invited  to  repose.  The  children  were 
kind  to  Memmy,  the  teachers  affable  with  Richard.  Memmy 
could  run  among  the  trees  with  any  of  them,  and  there  is  no 
aristocracy  in  eating.  Unitary  sentiments  were  exchanged; 
congratulations  of  mutual  good  feeling  made  ;  many  hopes  of 
childhood,  the  Church,  and  the  world,  echoed.  They  sang 
exultant  songs,  made  earnest  speeches,  and  returned. 

Memmy  got  home  safe,  with  her  palm-leaf  hat  prettily 
wreathed,  and  her  gown  soiled  and  torn.     Roxy  was  not 


286  RICHARD   EDNEY   AND 

sorry  that  she  did  not  wear  China  pearl,  and  Munk  prom- 
ised the  child  a  new  gingham ;  and  going  with  Dr.  Broad- 
well's  and  Parson  Smith's  children  turned  out  not  so  bad  a 
thing,  after  all. 

The  parlor  at  Munk's  was  a  hidden  room,  —  an  inner  sanc- 
tuarj',  —  a  Blue  Beard's  chamber ;  and  Richard  longed  to 
get  into  it.  It  was  the  largest  and  the  pleasantest  room  in  the 
house,  and  he  longed  to  enjoy  it.  But  it  was  stepping  on 
corns  to  say  anything  about  it.  The  room  was  not  open 
long  enough  for  ventilation,  and  Richard  declared  the  straw 
under  the  carpet  was  must)^,  and  smelled  damp  and  close. 
The  buzzing  of  a  venturesome  fly  alone  relieved  the  stillness 
of  the  spot ;  and  a  spider,  not  having  the  fear  of  Roxy  before 
his  eyes,  was  setting  his  traps  to  catch  the  fly.  But  the 
children  would  litter  the  carpet,  soil  the  sofa,  scratch  the 
chairs,  disturb  the  things  on  the  table. 

Munk  was  satisfied  with  the  kitchen,  because  he  could 
smoke,  lean  against  the  wall,  put  his  feet  on  the  stove-hearth, 
sit  in  his  shirt-sleeves,  —  in  a  word,  be  what  he  liked  to  be,  a 
free  man,  —  better  there  than  in  the  parlor ;  and  he  did  not 
mix  with  the  controversy. 

The  street-bell  rang,  and  Richard  answering  it,  encoun- 
tered Mrs.  Mellow,  the  lady  to  whom  Roxy  so  often  referred. 
She  was  the  Secretary  of  a  Home  Inspection  Society,  and 
distributor  of  its  tracts.  She  was  well  dressed,  had  a  pa- 
tronizing air,  a  soft,  gentle  voice,  blue  eyes,  and  her  face 
seemed  all  made  up  of  tender-line  and  goodness.  When 
Roxy  knew  who  had  called,  like  a  dozen  girls  let  loose  from 
school,  she  dispersed  in  all  directions  at  once ;  she  chased 
the  dust-brush,  washed  the  children's  faces,  swept  the  hearth, 
shut  the  table-drawer,  and  hurrying  into  the  bed-room  to 
adjust  her  toilette,  rapped  and  righted  the  pillows  on  the 
bed,  and   smoothed  the   window-curtains.     Not  that  ]\Irs. 


THE    GOVER^•OK■s   PA.\ULY.  2S7 

Mellow  \\Tis  in  the  bed-room,  or  likely  to  be ;  but  she  \\-as 
in  the  house,  and  Eoxy  acted  as  if  she  felt  she  was  all  over 
the  house.  These  matters  being  attended  to,  she  presented 
herself  in  the  parlor.  Honored  as  she  deemed  herself  by 
the  call,  she  was  in  no  state  to  do  justice  to  it.  Nerv- 
ous, bungling,  confused,  as  if  she  feared  the  walls  of  the 
room  would  fall  in  and  crush  her  visiter,  and  she  had  no 
power  to  admonish  her  of  the  danger,  she  stiffly  returned  the 
salutations  of  the  lady,  who  took  her  sweetly  by  the  hand, 
and  went  so  far  as  to  kiss  her.  The  customary  domestic 
inquiries  ensued  in  routine,  until  the  children  were  reached. 
But  these  were  on  hand  to  report  for  themselves.  They 
bounced  into  the  room,  and  like  captives  set  free,  they  made 
a  wild  and  rude  demonstration  of  their  joj*.  "  Come  to  me, 
little  one,"  said  Mrs.  Mellow,  holding  out  a  blue-gloved 
hand  on  her  silken  knee.  But  Memmy  \\-as  busy  with  a 
gilt-edged  book  she  had  snatched  from  the  table,  and  Bebby 
was  urging  a  chair  towards  the  same  forbidden  height. 
"  They  act  so  I  "  said  Roxy,  making  vicarious  confession  for 
the  young  transgi:essors,  at  the  same  time  taking  the  book 
from  Menmiy.  and  the  chair  from  Bebb}-.  "  Won't  you  go 
see  the  lady  ?  "  she  besought  them.  Bebby  was  rolling 
^..  ihe  carpet,  pulling  at  Memmy's  gown,  who  screamed  to 
free  herself.  "  They  always  behave  worse  before  company," 
explained  their  mother.  "  I  always  said  —  "  "  "What  have 
you  said  ? "  asked  Mrs.  Mellow.  "  Nothing,"  answered 
Roxy,  "  only  I  used  to  think  how  children  ought  to  behave 
in  company.  I  do  believe  we  have  the  worst  children 
that  ever  was  !  "  "  That  depends  a  tjood  deal  on  circum- 
stances," replied  Mrs.  Mellow.  ••  Do  you  teach  them 
obedience  ? " 

"  I  endeavor  to,"  said  Roxy,  "  but  they  beat  me  out  of  it. 
I  am  not  so  well  sustained  as  I  think  I  ought  to  be."     She 


2S8  RICHARD   EDNEY   JlSD 

glanced  at  Richard,  who,  having  been  requested  by  Mrs. 
Mellow  to  sit,  had  remained  in  the  room. 

"  One  should  never  give  up  to  children."  Mrs.  Mellow 
said  this  positively. 

"  Never  ?  "  asked  Roxy.  "  Never.  When  you  have  laid 
down  a  rule,  adhere  to  it." 

"  What  if  the  rule  is  a  bad  one  ?  "  queried  Richard. 

Mrs.  Mellow,  unlike  herself,  bridled  at  this,  and  looked 
sharply  at  Richard.  But  Richard  was  not  pierced;  and  per- 
haps because  he  was  not,  the  lady  remarked,  as  if  it  was 
the  most  effective  thing  she  could  do,  she  was  sorry  to  see 
our  young  men,  and  laboring  men  too,  imbibing  transcen- 
dental notions ;  at  the  same  time  tendering  Richard  a  tract, 
which  she  said  she  hoped  would  teach  him  humility  and  the 
fear  of  God.  Richard  accepted  the  tract,  and  unceremoni- 
ously left  the  room. 

"  I  fear  for  that  brother  of  yours,  Qlrs.  Munk,"  said  Mrs. 
Mellow. 

Now,  Roxy,  however  she  might  view  and  feel  some  things, 
loved  Richard,  and  was  proud  of  him,  and  was  wont  to  hear 
people  speak  well  of  him;  and  though  she  sometimes 
blamed  him  to  his  face,  she  had  no  idea  anybody  else  would 
do  so  to  hers ;  and  while  she  entertained  a  profound  regard, 
and  an  almost  sen'ile  reverence,  for  Mrs.  Mellow,  the  lan- 
guage of  that  lady  served  to  jar  the  awe  in  which  she  stood, 
and  set  her  upon  a  train  of  independent  thinking.  Still, 
she  made  no  reply,  and  in  a  short  time  her  caller  left. 
Moreover,  she  thought  Mrs.  Mellow  reflected  on  her  condi- 
tion in  life,  and  that  of  her  brother,  as  belonging  to  the 
laboring  class ;  and  this  was  grievous.  Mrs.  Mellow  had 
never  done  such  a  thing  before.  She  Avas  rich,  and  she 
belonged  to  the  best  church,  and  the  best  society,  and  lived 
in  an  elegant  house ;  and  Roxy  thought  she  was  an  uncom- 


THE    governor's    FAMILY.  289 

mon  Christian,  and  never  before,  through  the  suaviloquy  of 
patronage  and  condescension,  had  the  sting  of  derision  ap- 
peared. It  was  as  if  the  dove  concealed  a  serpent's  tongue, 
and  Roxy  felt  herself  bitten. 

Still  the  sentiment  of  Mrs.  Mellow,  "  Never  yield  to  a 
child,"  and  the  query  of  Richard,  "  What  if  it  be  a  bad 
rule  ?  "  weighed  in  her  mind. 

The  subject  of  the  freedom  of  the  parlor  came  up  in  con- 
versation, a  short  time  afterwards.  "  I  always  said  I  would 
have  a  best  room,"  observed  Roxy.  "  That  is  the  best  room," 
replied  Richard,  "which  answers  its  purpose  best,  and  con- 
tributes most  to  the  enjoyment  of  the  family.  Sometimes 
the  kitchen  is  the  best  room."  "Yes,"  said  Munk,  not 
looking  from  his  paper,  "  be  good  and  happy, —  only  be  happy, 
that 's  all."  "  The  best  room,"  continued  Richard,  "  on  the 
present  basis,  is  the  worst  room  —  one  that  affords  the  least 
satisfaction  of  any  in  the  house.  You  are  obliged,  Roxy,  to 
defend  it  as  it  were  with  a  broomstick  against  your  children, 
from  morning  to  night." 

"  But,"  answered  his  sister,  "  I  have  made  it  a  rule  that 
they  shall  never  go  into  the  parlor  except  we  have  company. 
They  will  remember  this  rule,  and  I  shall  seem  to  yield  to 
them." 

"  What  and  if  you  actually  yield  to  them  ?  It  will  be,  as 
Pastor  Harold  used  to  say  a  concession  of  arrangement  to 
affection, —  of  economy  to  happiness.  It  may  be  an  exchange 
of  what  is  purely  whimsical  or  fashionable,  for  what  is  use- 
ful and  salutary.  How  the  children  are  tried  and  tempted 
by  that  room ;  how  often  it  proves  too  strong  for  their  virtue ; 
how  their  inclinations  are  teazed,  and  their  humors  black- 
ened, by  your  regulation!  Take  rainy  days,  and  washing 
days,  and  busy  days,  —  the  kitchen  is  too  small  for  the  chil- 
dren and  you,  and  the  parlor  is  full  of  sunshine,  and  green- 
25 


290  EICHARD   EDNEY    AND 

sward,  and  blithe  freedom  to  them  ;  but  they  must  forego  it 
all,  and  ?tay  here  in  the  suds.  Would  it  be  right  to  set  a  plate 
of  cake  on  that  chair,  and  keep  it  uncovered  before  the  chil- 
dren for  a  week,  and  forbid  them  to  touch  it,  and  punish 
them  for  touching  it?  That  parlor  is  a  great  plate  of  cake, 
and  peaches  and  pears  besides,  to  them.  You  say  they 
spoil  things.  That  is  because  they  are  not  used  to  them. 
Familiarity  with  the  contents  of  the  room  would  moderate 
the  excitement  of  novelty.  It  is  the  rarity  of  entrance  that 
leads  the  children  to  abuse  it  so.  This  is  according  to  Mr. 
Willwell,  who  says,  the  more  you  hide  things  from  people, 
the  more  they  want  to  see  them." 

"  But  I  have  said  they  should  n't,"  answered  Roxy. 

"  What  if  you  said  wrong  ?  That  is  the  question.  May 
a  parent  never  do  wrong,  or  impose  a  wrong  command  ?  If 
he  has  done  so,  he  ought  to  retract,  I  think.  In  doing 
wrong,  you  violate  God's  law,  disturb  your  own  feelings,  and 
confound  the  moral  perceptions  of  the  children.  On  the 
other  hand,  while  you  seem  to  stoop  to  the  children,  you  are 
really  rising  to  the  heights  of  absolute  rectitude  ;  and  if  they 
appear  for  the  moment  to  gain  a  triumph  over  you,  they 
would  soon  find  they  had  only  arrived  at  a  natural  and 
simple  position ;  and  instead  of  using  it  as  an  advantage,  it 
would  rather  humble  them  by  its  responsibility.  Parental 
concession  is  provocative  of  filial  obedience.  That  is  Pastor 
Harold  again  ;  I  have  his  sermons  by  heart." 

"  You  will  '  Pastor  Harold  '  me  to  death  I  "  rejoined  Roxy. 

"  He  would  kill  you  by  love,  as  he  did  me  once.  But 
that  is  the  true  Resurrection.  Die  to  sin,  that  we  may  live 
to  holiness.  Be  firm  in  what  is  right,  reasonable  in  what 
is  doubtful,  but  give  up  in  what  is  wrong,  —  that  is  his 
doctrine.  Look  into  your  own  heart,  Roxy,  and  see  what 
your  motives  are,   in  this  thing.     Do  you  keep   the  par- 


THE    governor's    FAMILY.  291 

lor  shut  for  the  good  of  your  children,  or  for  the  prosperity 
of  your  house,  or  even  for  any  reasons  of  comfort  or  edifica- 
tion ?  Is.it  not  solely  for  the  world,  —  because  you  are 
ambitious  to  have  as  good  a  parlor  as  Mrs.  Tunnj',  or  from 
fear  of  what  Mrs.  Mellow  will  think,  or  from  a  prurient 
desire  to  have  the  reputation  of  keeping  a  handsome  parlor? 
You  talk  a  good  deal  about  the  aristocracy,  and  pride-and- 
vnnity  folk,  and  worldly-minded  professors  ;  and  you  think 
you  belong  to  a  very  humble  and  self-denying  church;  but 
it  seems  to  me  you  commit  more  sin,  and  betray  more  folly, 
about  your  parlor,  a  hundred  fold,  than  the  Mayor's  wife, 
in  allowing  danchig  at  her  house,  for  which  you  censured 
her  so  ;  or  the  Redferns,  in  taking  the  fine  house  in  Victo- 
ria Square,  and  who,  you  have  said,  were  so  abandoned  to 
the  idolatry  of  this  world." 

Roxy  oh-deared ;  and  Richard,  not  knovving  but  he  was 
pressing  the  subject  too  closely,  dropped  it. 

Roxy  was  easily  persuaded ;  and  p'erhaps  that  was  one 
source  of  the  infelicity  of  her  life.  When  she  left  her  coun- 
try home,  the  city  persuaded  her ;  when  she  began  to  as- 
sume a  church  relation,  Elder  Jabson  persuaded  her;  when 
she  went  into  society,  Mrs.  Tunny  persuaded  her;  —  some- 
time? it  was  Aunt  Griiit;  sometimes  it  was  a  thunder- 
storm. Her  husband  once  had  great  influence  with  her ; 
but  she  had  got  used  to  him,  —  he  had  lost  his  seasoning,  his 
piquancy,  his  forcefulness,  to  her;  a  word  from  Elder  Jab- 
son outweighed  whole  sermons  of  Asa's.  But  Richard  was 
a  fresh  ministry, —  there  was  at  least  the  raciness  and  edge 
of  novelty  to  his  words,  and  she  was  disposed  to  be  per- 
suaded once  more. 

It  was  agreed  that  the  room  should  be  thrown  open,  and 
all  rejoiced  in  the  prospective  enlargement. 


CHAPTER    XXVII. 

KNUCKLE    LAKE. 

During  the  j^ear,  there  arose  in  "Woodylin  a  movement, 
which  uhimately  embodied  itself  in  what  was  called  the 
Knuckle  Lane  Club.  Its  object  was  to  remove  degradation 
from  the  city ;  and  no  person  was  deemed  fit  to  join  it  who 
was  not  willing  to  spend  an  evening  in  Knuckle  Lane.  This 
precinct,  extending  along  a  deep  gorge,  was  sinuous,  jagged, 
damp  and  dark.  It  was  a  result  of  the  city.  Its  waste 
measured  the  improvement  of  the  city.  It  was  the  slag 
and  dross  of  the  city  refinement.  Its  houses  were  the  old 
city  houses,  that  had  been  replaced  by  better  ones ;  and 
they  looked  as  if  they  had  been  brought  to  the  edge  of  the 
gully,  and  one  after  another  pitched  into  the  receptacle  be- 
low, where  they  lay,  in  all  shapes,  at  all  angles,  and  in  all 
predicaments. 

This  Club  did  not,  however,  confine  itself  to  that  locality  ; 
it  had  a  more  comprehensive  aim.  It  was  a  sort  of  subter- 
ranean method  of  doing  good  in  general.  It  proposed  to 
look  at  vice  from  beneath.  Like  the  sewers  of  London, 
there  are  moral  sewers  in  all  our  cities,  extending  many 
miles,  in  the  labyrinthine  passages  of  which  one  may  travel 
days.     It  would  go  into  these. 

The  Club  resolved,  not  merely  to  berate  vice,  but  to  fol- 
low it  home,  —  see  its  bed  and  board;  talk  with  it,  and 
find  out  what  was  on  its  mind ;  listen  to  its  arguments ; 
make  a  stethoscopic  examination  of  it,  and  trace  to  their 
source  some  of  its  streams. 


RICHARD  EDNEY,  ETC.  293 

The  enterprise  required  tact,  strength  and  faith.  A  num- 
ber of  individuals  Avere  combined  in  it.  Some  ladies  acted 
with  it,  —  others  sympathized.  Some  families  in  Victoria 
Square  contributed  furniture  and  clothing;  some  rich  men 
gave  money.  But  there  must  be  workers,  —  Putnams  of 
this  den. 

The  plan  had  been  for  some  time  maturing.  There  was 
no  secrecy  about  it,  nor  were  there  any  attempts  at  pub- 
licity. There  was  no  desire  to  provoke  opposition,  or  to  be 
impeded  by  prejudice  ;  therefore,  those  were  chiefly  spoken 
to  who,  it  was  thought,  vvouldbe  interested  in  the  matter. 
Richard  and  Nefon  were  particularly  interested. 

In  the  coarse  of  this  business,  Richard  made  new  acquaint- 
ances, and,  as  he  thought,  with  nice  people.  Among  these  was 
Augustus  Mangil,  one  of  the  Brokers.  No  one  dreamed  of 
Augustus  Mangil  in  such  a  connection.  At  his  capacious 
office  window  lay  all  day  long  piles  of  gold  and  silver,  and 
passers  by,  seeing  the  man  through  the  window,  and,  as  it 
were,  breast-high  in  the  precious  stuff,  supposed  him  a  sort 
of  monster, —  half  a  knave,  half  a  fool.  He  was  reputed  to 
shave  notes,  get  up  panics,  disturb  the  street;  and,  with  a 
shark-like  voracity,  devour  railroads  and  factories,  and  orphan 
patrimonies.  He  had  a  pleasant,  smiling  face,  —  but  that  was 
to  w'in  your  money.  He  played  on  the  flute,  —  that  w'as  to 
decoy  the  unwarj' ;  his  head  was  partly  bald,  and  some  said 
the  widow's  tears  scalded  it ;  yet  he  was  fat  and  sleek  ;  — 
still,  there  were  hundreds  who  knew  where  his  marrow  and 
oil  flowed  from. 

But  Nefon,  who  prided  himself  on  his  insight  into  human 
nature,  knew  his  man,  and  knew  this  man.  He  looked 
him  in  the  eye,  somewhat  as  Klumpp  would,  and  said, 
"  Gus,"  —  he  called  him  Gus,  —  "you  must  go  with  us." 
"  Go  ?  go  ?  go  where  ? "  "  Knuckle  Lane."  "  I  know 
25* 


294  RICHARD    EDXEY    AND 

Knuckle  Lane.  I  have  just  sold  some  Knuckle  Lane 
stock."  "  Don't  speak  of  it.  We  must  tn-  to  improve  the 
stock." 

"  Not  speak  of  it  ? "  exclaimed  the  Broker.  "  I  have 
saved  five  dollars  for  the  poor  dog.  He  put  all  he  had  in  a 
railroad  share,  because  they  told  him  it  would  help  his 
tracking.  Frightened,  horse  dead,  wife  confined,  and  all 
that,  —  would  sacrifice.  I  never  stand  about  such  things  ; 
cashed  the  bond,  divide  the  profits;  and  five  dollars  is  his, 
—  that  goes  into  Knuckle  Lane." 

"  Come  along !  "  said  Nefon ;  "  \o\i  are  a  man,  and  the 
man,  and  our  man." 

In  addition,  Richard  was  introduced  to  a  worthy  lady,  of 
whom  he  had  heard,  a  sister-in-law  of  the  Broker's,  Mrs. 
Helen  Mangil ;  and  as  there  was  another  lady  in  Woodylia 
of  the  same  name,  and  whose  husband  bore  the  same  name 
with  that  of  the  first,  this  one,  in  certain  circles,  was  called 
Helen  the  Good. 

This  Knackle  Lane  became  a  cau=:e ;  it  counted  its 
friends  and  supporters,  —  it  grew  into  a  spirit  and  a  feeling. 

Maj^or  Langreen  was  its  President,  Parson  Smith  its 
Secretary,  Nefon  its  Treasurer;  then  it  created  a  Do-some- 
thing Committee, or  might  be  said  to  resolve  itself  into  such; 
and  this  comprised  men  and  women,  among  whom  were 
Richard,  Mr.  IMangil,  Broker,  Elder  Jabson,  Munk,  Mr. 
Cosgrove,  Carpenter,  Mr.  Horr,  Collector  of  Customs,  Mr. 
Lawtall,  Pianoforte-maker,  Ada  Broadwell,  the  Lady  Car- 
oline, Helen  the  Good,  Melicent,  and  others. 

It  will  be  recollected  the  condition  of  membership  was 
willingness  to  spend  an  evening  in  Knuckle  Lane;  and  this, 
in  the  estimation  of  many  good  people  of  Woodylin,  was 
narrow  and  exclusive.  It  savored  of  bigotry;  it  was  a 
reflection  on  excellence.     ]\Irs,  Tunny  was  shocked  at  it ; 


THE    governor's    FAMILY.  295 

the  Redferns  in  Victoria  Square  sniffed  at  it.  "  But  now," 
said  Nefon,  "we  know  who  is  who;  if  anybody  has  got 
quills,  here  is  a  chance  to  show  them.  Every  man's  eyes 
must  be  his  own  chap  in  this  business." 

There  must  be  first  a  reconnoissance,  and  a  report.  Rich- 
ard, Mr.  Marigil,  Elder  Jabson,  and  Nefon,  were  commis- 
sioned to  this  task.  It  was  a  thick  and  misty  night  when 
they  sallied  forth.  From  the  height  that  overlooked 
Knuckle  Lane,  that  region,  with  its  pent  lights,  appeared 
like  a  gully  cut  through  Hades  by  some  deluge,  along  the 
hideousness  of  which  a  dim  phosphorescence  luridly  gleamed. 
"  We  must  peel  and  go  at  it,"  said  Nefon.  Not  peel,  but 
wrap  up,  oh  valorous  man !  —  pull  on  gutta  percha  boots,  to 
wade  through  that  mire  and  dirt;  clothe  breast  and  arms  in 
faith  and  hope,  to  meet  that  sin  and  shame.  It  was  the 
rendezvous  of  theft,  the  resort  of  bawdery,  and  a  creek  into 
which  whatever  is  unfortunate  in  human  condition,  or  de- 
praved in  human  nature,  daily  set,  like  the  tide, 

"  There  are  children  there  !  "  ejaculated  Richard.  "  There 
are  souls  there,"  said  Elder  Jabson,  with  pious  eagerness. 
"  I  have  a  customer  there,"  answered  the  oily,  laughing- 
Broker,  "  and  I  think  we  had  better  corner  him." 

They  entered  the  house  of  the  truckman,  where  they 
found  a  sick  wife,  and  a  sorrowful  looking  man  vainly 
attempting  to  fill  the  office  of  nurse,  and  keep  his  infant 
child  alive.  "Where  was  the  Lady  Caroline  ?"  bethought 
Richard.  It  had  not  been  deemed  safe  or  prudent  for  the 
ladies  to  come  out  that  night.  Mr.  Mangil  had  in  his 
hands  a  balance  of  money  due  the  truckman.  This  was 
opportune.  It  enabled  the  man  to  buy  a  horse  ;  a  horse 
would  restore  him  to  his  business,  —  his  business  would 
support  his  family.  "A  transaction,"  said  the  Broker.  "  I 
negotiated  his   share,  and  put   five  dollars   into   my  own 


296  KICHARD    EDNEY    AND 

pocket ;  if  he  has  any  more  dealings  of  the  sort,  I  should 
be  happy  to  act  for  him." 

They  went  next  to  Fuzzle's,  one  of  the  men  who  had 
been  induced  to  sign  the  temperance  pledge  at  Quiet  Arbor, 
the  winter  before.  He  had  been,  in  his  own  language,  "  off 
and  on "  abstemious.  His  wife  was  an  acetate  of  bitter- 
ness. He  spent  most  of  his  evenings  out ;  drank  to  enjoy 
himself;  cursed  the  License  law. 

They  visited  a  washerwoman,  who  cared  more  for  others 
than  herself,  and  seemed  to  absorb  in  her  own  family  all  the 
dirt  she  took  from  the  world  at  large. 

Whimp's  was  a  vile  and  villanous  spot,  —  no  culture,  no 
ideas,  no  hope,  no  God. 

Slaver's,  they  attempted  to  inventory,  but  it  was  an  end- 
less task ;  it  stood  plus  nothing,  and  minus  everything. 
Yet  there  were  cats,  and  a  pig,  broken  stools,  smoked  walls, 
unseemly  beds,  and  some  of  Elder  Jabson's  "  souls,"  staring 
out,  wild  and  savage,  through  uncut  hair,  bronzed  cheeks, 
and  shaking  about  in  rags  and  dirt. 

No.  6  was  a  rookery,  —  music  and  dancing,  drhiking  and 
swearing,  the  Satyrism  and  Bacchantism  of  modern  civiliza- 
tion. 

Our  Heroes  stood  their  ground  at  all  points,  patiently 
investigated,  kindly  counselled,  and  carefully  remembered. 
Sometimes  the  Elder  prayed.  Nefon  had  with  him  tracts, 
little  picture-books,  and  embellished  cards,  which  he  dis- 
tributed. 

They  made  due  report  of  proceedings.  The  Club  was 
surprised,  horrified ;  they  inquired.  What  shall  be  done  ? 
They  passed  resolutions ;  they  adopted  plans ;  and  all  with 
an  honest  purpose  at  the  bottom. 

Committees  were  sent  out  by  twos  ;  not  Knuckle  Lane 
alone,  but  other  similar  spots  were  visited.     They  explored 


THE    governor's    FAMILY,  297 

the  shores  of  the  River,  picking  their  way  through  drift- 
wood, hulks  of  boats,  drag-nets,  hog-styes,  hen-coops,  and 
went  up  the  bank  to  tenements  that  iiang  down  from  many- 
stories  above,  where  the  freshet  and  the  cholera  sometimes 
enter,  —  where  squalidness  and  destitution  are  always 
entering,  —  where  children,  like  bank -swallows,  are  seen 
entering,  — inhabited  by  Canadian  French,  and  Connaught 
Irish.  They  traversed  the  Pebbles.  They  searched  the 
purlieus  of  hotels  and  stables.  Eating-houses  on  the  wharves, 
and' boarding-houses  in  the  same  vicinity,  were  remembered. 
They  risked  the  most  in  the  rum-shops.  It  was  voted  that 
two  members  of  the  sacred  band  should  sit  out  an  evening 
in  these  retreats.  The  thing  was  done.  They  entered  the 
curtained  door,  took  chairs  in  the  midst  of  that  congrega- 
tion, saw  what  was  done,  heard  what  was  said, —  staid  from 
eight  o'clock  till  midnight.  Some  members  of  the  company 
chose  gambling-rooms,  dancing-halls,  and  the  gallery  of  the 
Theatre,  for  their  field  ;  others  frequented  the  circuses  and 
menageries,  and  entertainments  promised  by  negro  mimics, 
mesmeric  mountebanks,  and  jugglers  of  all  sorts.  Some 
spent  a  portion  of  the  Sabbath  at  the  various  Lazy  Poles, 
and  Paradises,  and  the  Islands.  The  Alms-house  and  Jail 
were  rummaged. 

Not  that  this  was  done  at  once.  Summer  hardly  sufficed, 
and  winter  was  upon  them  before  even  their  preliminary 
operations  were  concluded. 

But  Knuckle  Lane  flourished.  Judge  Burp  joined  the 
society.  Alanson  M.  Colenutt,  the  millionnaire,  signified 
his  approval.  The  Editor  of  the  Dogbane  said  in  his  office, 
one  day,  in  the  presence  of  a  large  number  of  most  notable 
and  keen-sighted  Phumbicians,  in  an  earnest  but  whispered 
under-tone,  swaying  a  great  newspaper  in  both  hands,  he 
believed  it  was  a  good  thing.     "  I  say  it,  —  I  will  say  it;  J 


gya  EICHARD    EDNEY    AND 

say  it  not  as  a  Phumbician,  but  as  a  man,  —  I  believe  it  is 
a  good  thing."  Tode  sprang  from  his  chair,  and  leaving  the 
office,  said,  "  Stop  my  paper !  "  "  Mr.  Tode,"  cried  the 
Editor,  "  I  am  a  Phumbician  ;  every  drop  of  blood  in  my 
veins  boils  vi^ith  Dogbanian  fire.  I  know  what  is  due  to  our 
cause.  If  they  dare  to  meddle  with  that,  and  bring  the  curs 
about  our  ears,  —  if  a  single  whelp  is  heard  to  bark  in  con- 
sequence of  their  movements,  —  no  indignation,  no  scorn, 
no  blasting,  is  too  great  for  them !  "  Tode  resumed  his 
seat. 

It  was  rumored,  the  same  daj'',  on  the  opposite  side  of  the 
Kiver,  that  the  Dogbane  had  caved  in,  having  announced  in 
favor  of  Knuckle  Lane,  and  was  making  capital  out  of  the 
new  enterprise.  The  Catapult  wauled,  "  What  if  some 
poor  man's  dog  was  saved,  —  it  was  his  comfort  and  de- 
fence ;  — he  shared  with  the  faithful  creature  his  bread  and 
butter :  and  when  he  dies,  who  watches  his  grave,  —  who, 
if  we  may  so  say,  sheds  a  tear  for  the  departed  ?  —  who, 
who,  but  his  dog  ?  But  that  is  not  it ;  we  warn  our  read- 
ers, it  is  not  hatred  to  dogs  that  inspires  the  cunning  of  our 
amiable  contemporary; — it  is  a  covert  design  to  encourage 
amongst  us  that  spawn  of  perdition,  the  cats.  The  meat 
that  was  conveyed  by  worthy  members  of  this  Club  to  a  cer- 
tain poor  family  is  known  to  haze  been  fed  out  to  a  cat  I 
Driblets  and  bones,  they  say  !  But  driblets  and  bones  are 
nutritious.  Cats  are  the  mothers  of  Kittens  ! !  This  is 
a  momentous  truth,  and  one  we  hope  the  people  will  duly 
ponder." 

A  deputation,  consisting  of  the  most  respectable  members 
of  Knuckle  Lane,  headed  by  Judge  Burp,  visited  both 
offices,  and  explicitly  assured  the  editors  that  Knuckle 
Lane  had  nothing  to  do  with  Phumbics ;  and  the  matter 
was  dropped  from  the  public  prints. 


THE    GOVERNOR  S    FAMILY.  Zif9' 

It  went  on,  however,  in  the  hearts  of  the  people.  It 
gained  the  affections,  and  silenced  the  scruples,  of  multi- 
tudes. 

Richard  was  indefatigable.  He  had  not  so  much  leisure 
as  many,  but  he  had  faith  and  patience.  One  evening  every 
week,  and,  in  emergencies,  two,  he  assigned  to  Knuckle 
Lane. 

In  these  visits  he  was  often  aided  and  directed  by  Cor- 
nelius Wheelan,  whom  he  had  rescued  from  the  Grotto  and 
ruin,  and  who,  so  to  say,  having  been  pickled  in  vice  and 
crime,  took  a  long  time  to  freshen ;  but  as  it  is  said  beef 
freshens  better  in  salt  water  than  fresh,  so  it  seemed  to  take 
all  this  man's  humors  out  of  him  to  go  around  among  his 
old  associates  and  haunts; — and  he  became  not  only  a  bet- 
ter man,  but  useful  to  those  who  were  better  than  he,  and 
also  to  some  that  were  worse. 

Richard's  special  beat  was  the  New  Town  ;  yet  sooner  or 
later,  he  visited  almost  the  whole  of  the  city.  He  went 
down  among  the  roots  of  many  of  its  evils.  He  got  into 
the  bosom,  and,  so  to  say,  blossom,  of  much  of  its  sorrow. 
He  sat  by  the  bed-side  of  its  remorse.  He  made  himself  at 
home  in  its  dens  of  iniquity. 

It  was  a  rule  of  Knuckle  Lane  to  give  no  offensive  public- 
ity to  discoveries  they  might  make.  As  the  historian  of 
the  society,  we  are  bound  by  the  same  reserve,  and  cannot 
relate  all  that  fell  under  the  observation  of  our  friend,  albeit 
they  were  matters  of  interest  and  moment,  both  to  him  and 
his  co-laborers. 

We  shall  briefly  advert  to  one  or  two  results.  The  Club 
had  gathered  facts  and  statistics  enough,  —  the  map  of  the 
thing  was  definitely  drawn  and  pretty  deeply  colored  before 
their  ej-es.  Some  were  overwhelmed,  —  some  disheartened, 
—  but  the  majority  seemed  to  derive  illumination  from  afar, 


300  RICHARD    EDNEY   AND 

and  clearness,  on  the  whole,  came  to  the  relief  of  obscu- 

rity- 

Knuckle  Lane,  havhig  disentangled  itself  from  Phumbics, 
came  near  falling  out  with  Polemics,  What  was  the  Church 
to  it,  and  it  to  the  Church  ?  —  that  was  the  question.  One 
or  two  Clergymen  said  it  interfered  with  their  labors,  — 
usurped  the  prerogative  of  the  Church,  and  drew  off  com- 
municants. But  Clergy  and  Laity,  on  the  whole,  favored  it. 
Still,  among  the  adherents  of  the  cause,  the  inquiry  arose. 
Shall  the  Church  go  to  Knuckle  Lane,  or  Knuckle  Lane 
come  to  the  Church  ?  But  Knuckle  Lane  was  too  dirty  and 
too  ragged  to  go  to  the  Church.  Shall  the  Church  wash  and 
clothe  it  ?  It  may  not  stay  washed  and  clothed.  Shall  the 
Church  support  external  Knuckle  Lane  organizations  ?  Not 
agreed.  Prosecute  the  rum-shops  ?  General  shaking  of 
heads.  Knuckle  Lane  itself  would  take  it  in  dudgeon. 
Furthermore,  the  Church  is  represented  partly  in  Victoria 
Square,  and  La  Fayette-street,  What  have  these  to  do 
with  Knuckle  Lane  ?  Shall  these  streets  go  down  to 
Knuckle  Lane?  Shall  Knuckle  Lane,  the  Docks,  the  Sta- 
bles, the  Islands,  go  up  to  Victoria  Square  ?  "  Rather 
a  tight  squeeze,"  said  Nefon.  "In  plain  language,"  ob- 
served Mr.  Cosgrove,  Carpenter,  "  shall  the  Redferns  and 
the  Fuzzles  meet  in  one  another's  parlors  and  kitchens  ? " 
"In  the  existing  state  of  human  society,"  said  Judge  Burp, 
rubbing  the  palms  of  his  hands,  "  I  should  deem  it  imprac- 
ticable. I  doubt  if  Mrs.  Redfern  and  Mrs.  Fuzzle,  on  first 
introduction,  would  not  deem  it  a  very  awkward  and  disa- 
greeable piece  of  business." 

Why  should  not  Victoria  Square  deputize  its  interest  in 
Knuckle  Lane?  "A  good  plan,"  whispered  Mr.  Lawtall, 
Pianoforte-maker,  to  Nefon.  —  Nefon  drew  his  hand  hard 
over  his  face,  and  was  still.  —  Create  deputy  almoners  of  its 


THE    governor's    FAMILY.  301 

bread,  deputy  carriers  of  its  compliments,  deputy  com- 
municators of  its  instruction?  But  who  shall  bring  back  the 
thanks,  the  love,  and  the  evidences  of  good,  from  Knuckle 
Lane  to  Victoria  Square  ?  Shall  Knuckle  Lane  have  its 
deputies,  too  ?  Shall  the  whole  business  of  Christian  inter- 
course and  human  duty  be  a  matter  of  delegation  ?  Shall 
the  Eedferns,  and  the  Tillingtons,  and  the  Tissingtons,  of 
Victoria  Square,  —  shall  Governor  Dennington,  and  Mayor 
Langreen,  and  Judge  Burp,  of  the  city  generally,  —  be  doing 
and  acting,  —  sending  bread,  and  sympathy,  and  encourage- 
ment, to  the  Puzzles,  and  Whimps,  and  Slavers,  of  Knuckle 
Lane,  and  these  parties  never  see  each  other  ?  Shall  the 
Widow  Droop,  who  lives  by  the  Pebbles,  receive  a  basket  of 
meat,  a  bed  coverlid,  a  jacket  for  her  boy,  from  the  May- 
oress, and  never  see  the  Mayoress,  —  never  give  vent  to  her 
glad  feelings,  which  else  are  quite  a-bursting  her,  —  never 
kiss  the  hand  that  is  so  open  and  soft  ?  Shall  the  warm- 
hearted Mayoress  even  not  know  where  her  beneficence  goes, 
or  whom  it  blesses? — Great  commotion,  and  a  deal  of 
anxiety.  —  How  shall  the  rich  and  poor  meet  together,  and 
the  Lord  be  the  Maker  of  them  all  ?  "  That  is  the  ques- 
tion," said  Nefon.    "  That  points  to  the  ring-bolt,  I  tell  youl " 

A  plan  was  proposed  and  achieved  somewhat  in  this 
wise. 

A  building  was  erected,  called  The  Griped  Hand,  from  a 
device  of  that  sort,  cut  in  stone,  over  the  entrance.  It  was 
a  three-story  house,  and  divided  into  a  Coffee-room,  a  Read- 
ing-room, and  an  Assembly-room.  It  was  a  large  building, 
of  freestone,  tastefully  designed,  and  standing  in  a  con- 
venient spot.  It  was  a  contribution  of  the  Church,  Victoria 
Square,  and  other  parts  of  the  city,  or  of  various  individuals 
in  the  city,  —  or,  more  systematically,  of  Religion,  Wealth, 
and  Common  Sense, —  to  Knuckle  Lane.  The  Coffee-room 
26 


302  RICHARD   EDNEY   AND 

supplied  cheap  refreshments  of  various  kinds  ;  the  Reading- 
room  was  well  stocked  with  newspapers,  magazines,  and 
comprised  also  a  library ;  the  Assembly-room  was  devoted 
to  miscellaneous  gatherings,  collations,  reunions,  lectures, 
etc.,  etc. 

All  who  were  able  paid  something  for  its  privileges ;  those 
without  means  were  admitted  gratuitously.  Its  ultimate 
support  was  chargeable  to  the  charities  of  the  Churches  and 
individuals. 

At  the  dedication,  Dr.  Broadwell  preached  an  eloquent 
discourse,  and  the  combined  Church  choirs  added  excellent 
music. 

The  people  of  Woodylin  were  invited  to  unite  freely  in 
the  Griped  Hand,  and  what  it  could  aflord.  Members  of  the 
holy  brotherhood  visited  Knuckle  Lane,  and  other  places, 
and  extended  the  graciousness  of  the  Griped  Hand  to  those 
people. 

Would  Fuzzie  enjoy  his  evenings  as  well  at  the  Griped 
Hand  as  in  Quiet  Arbor?  He  did.  Sailors,  stevedores, 
river-drivers,  teamsters,  came  to  the  Griped  Hand  for  their 
cups  of  tea  and  coffee.  Victoria  Square  and  Knuckle  Lane 
did  meet  in  the  Assembly-room  of  the  Griped  Hand.  Eve- 
lina Redfern  and  Sally  Whimp  did  shake  hands,  and  con- 
verse together,  and  appear  like  two  Christians,  at  a  Fourth  of 
July  pic-nic  in  the  same  room ;  and  Evelina  and  Sally 
bowed  in  the  street  the  next  day,  and  certain  people  did  not 
know  where  it  would  stop,  this  intimacy  of  those  two ;  indeed, 
it  would  probably  go  on  through  this  world  into  the  next. 

"  Victoria  Square  is  on  the  way  to  Knuckle  Lane,  and 
Knuckle  Lane  is  moving  towards  Victoria  Square,  actu- 
ally !  "  So  Nefon  exclaimed,  thrusting  down  his  right  fist 
emphatically  on  the  counter,  —  his  store  full  of  people,  — 
and  no  man  dared  say  aught  against  it. 


1 


THE    GOVEENOR's    FAMILY.  303 

The  Church  lost  nothing.  Indeed,  the  whole  world, 
belongs  to  the  Church,  through  Christ  Jesus,  and  has  been 
bought  with  a  great  price,  and  paid  for ;  but  how  many- 
briers  and.  thorns,  how  much  sour  bog,  how  much  gravelly 
drift,  there  is  on  the  farm  !  The  Church  gained  in  the  im- 
provement of  Knuckle  Lane.  It  was  so  much  muck,  and 
decayed  vegetation,  and  corrupted  life,  hauled  out  and 
mixed  with  Gospel  lime  and  sunlight,  and  Woodylin  culture ; 
and  it  became  excellent  soil  —  and  it  was  all  clear  gain  to 
the  Church. 

The  rich  and  the  poor  met  together;  benefactor  and  bene- 
ficiary looked  each  other  in  the  face.  The  willing  hand  and 
the  relieved  want  poured  out  their  feelings  in  common ;  the 
sick  man  saw  his  kind  physician ;  penury  and  hopelessness 
beheld  the  eye  that  had  been  moved  to  tears  over  the  story 
thereof.  And  were  not  many  glad  to  see  the  Lady  Caro- 
line, so  free-hearted,  so  ready  to  do,  so  anxious  to  know 
what  she  could  do  ?  Many  knew  how  she  went  up  to  Bill 
Stonners'  when  nobody  else  would  go,  and  staid  by  that 
disease  when  nobody  else  would  stay.  She  was  the  woman 
that  many  had  heard  of,  and  she  was  sometimes  pointed  out 
as  the  woman  that  was  not  afraid  of  Bill  or  Chuk,  or  sick- 
ness or  death ;  and  the  Fuzzles,  and  Whimps,  and  Slavers, 
stood  in  awe  of  her,  as  a  god.  Were  n't  they  glad  to  speak 
with  her,  and  see  her  smile,  and  to  have  her  elegance,  and 
wealth,  and  fashion,  about  them,  as  an  atmosphere  which 
they  could  breathe,  —  as  a  little  garden  right  jn  the  midst  of 
their  bleakness  and  meanness,  where  they  could  play,  and 
pluck  a  flower  or  two?  —  and  this  they  had  at  the  Griped 
Hand.  Then  how  many  crowded  about  Helen  the  Good, 
with  eyes,  and  hands,  and  hearts,  all  brimming  with  delight. 

What  of  Religion?  There  are  Churches  enough  in  the 
city,  and  preachers  enough ;   let  Knuckle  Lane  go  where  it 


304  RICHARD    EUNEY    AND 

chooses.  So  it  was  decided.  After  meeting  in  the  Griped 
Hand,  and  getting  better  acquainted,  and  loving  each  other 
more,  Knuckle  Lane  was  more  ready  to  worship  with  Vic- 
toria Square.  "  Our  Church  is  open  to  all,"  said  Dr. 
Broadwell;  and  so  said  Parson  Smith,  and  so  said  Elder 
Jabson. 

What  of  Education?  There  is  plenty  of  public  schools; 
let  Knuckle  Lane,  and  the  Islands,  be  drawn  into  them. 

Well,  in  process  of  time  it  was  found  the  rum-shops  were 
a  good  deal  thinned  out.  The  Coffee-room,  and  kindness, 
and  cordiality,  had  superior  attractions.  "  Men  have  feel- 
ings as  well  as  appetites,  and  a  longing  for  home  amidst  all 
dissipation,"  Richard  used  to  say,  quoting  from  Pastor 
Harold.  Then  he  added,  —  this  he  got  too  from  the  same 
reverend  source,  —  what  St.  Pierre  relates,  how  the  Euro- 
pean settlers  in  the  Isle  of  France  said  they  should  be  happy 
there  if  they  could  see  a  cowslip  or  a  violet.  Let  us  send, 
he  said,  to  these  wanderers  from  virtue  and  peace,  a  cowslip 
and  a  violet. 

The  Theatre  lost  some  of  its  charms,  and  much  of  its  per- 
niciousness.  The  Griped  Hand  furnished  cheap  amuse- 
ments for  the  poor.  Knuckle  Lane  would  be  amused,  and 
cannot  we  amuse  it?  So  asked  Benjamin  Dennington. 
"Happy  and  good,  —  good  and  happy!"  cried  Munk. 
Elder  Jabson  started,  but  Nefon  held  him  to  his  seat, 
"  Can't  go,  my  man,  can't  go ;  it  is  rather  hot  for  you,  I 
know,  but  you  must  stand  fire." 

Popular  lectures  were  had  in  the  Assembly-room,  and 
singing  concerts;  panoramas  and  wax-work  were  exliib- 
ited ;  that  large  class  of  people  who  itinerate  through  the 
country  with  their  wisdom  and  their  shows  found  it  for  their 
interest  to  employ  the  same  Hall,  where  indeed  Knuckle 


THE  governor's  FAMILY.  305 

Lane  was  admitted  ad  valorem,  while  Victoria  Square  paid 
enough  to  keep  the  revenue  good. 

Did  this  redeem  Knuckle  Lane  ?  It  went  some  ways 
towards  redeeming  what  was  redemptible  in  it.  Would  any- 
one refuse  the  blessings  of  the  Griped  Hand?  He  must 
indeed  be  reprobate.  Did  it  Christianize  the  Church  and 
Victoria  Square  ?     It  helped  their  Christianization. 

Were  there  no  drawbacks  ?  Yes,  a  plenty.  One  or  two 
of  the  Clergy  and  their  people  drew  back.  They  said 
there  was  no  religion  in  it,  —  that  to  introduce  the  subject 
of  Knuckle  Lane  and  the  Griped  Hand  into  their  pulpits 
was  a  desecration,  —  that  they  ought  to  preach  the  Gospel, 
and  not  exciting  topics,  etc.,  etc.  I  need  not  enumerate  all 
they  said.  Miss  Fiddledeeanna  Redfern  drew  back ;  — 
did  n't  she,  when  her  sister  Evelina  came  in  from  the  pic- 
nic aforesaid  ?  And  when  she  knew  her  sister  had  shaken 
hands  with  Sally  Whimp,  very  facetiously  she  seized  the 
tongs  and  made  as  if  she  would  throw  her  sister's  glove  into 
the  fire.  Mrs.  Mellow  drew  back,  because  she  said  the 
friends  of  the  enterprise,  in  their  distribution  of  tracts, 
refused  to  accept  those  of  which  she  was  agent ;  while,  in 
fact,  they  only  said  they  did  not  wish  to  be  confined  to  them. 
But  the  knowing  ones  declared  the  true  cause  of  this  lady's 
opposition  lay  in  an  unwillingness  to  have  her  children  meet 
with  Knuckle  Lane  children  at  a  juvenile  celebration  to  be 
given  at  the  Griped  Hand.  Zephaniah  O.  Tainter,  Jr.,  gen- 
eral clacquer  and  spy  of  the  Catapult  club,  held  back,  be- 
cause he  said  he  could  see  a  cat  in  this  Knuckle  Lane  meal. 
Mary  Crossmore,  nurse,  ditto,  because  this  movement  had 
fished  up  two  or  three  excellent  nurses  out  of  Knuckle  Lane, 
and  her  business  might  fall  off.  Mr.  Squabosh,  Superin- 
tendent of  Sewers  and  Drains,  ditto,  because  it  would 
interfere  with  his  contract.  Mr.  Catch,  philosopher,  sus- 
26* 


306  RICHARD    EDNEY,    ETC. 

pended  opinion  until  it  should  be  ascertained  whether  it 
recognized  the  true  theory  of  capital  and  labor.  Mr. 
Gresney,  reformer,  could  not  assent  to  it,  because  it  did  not 
begin  with  the  distinct  enunciation  of  a  principle.  The 
Man  of  Mind  stood  at  the  corners  of  the  streets  and  looked 
wise. 

But  why  recount  expressions  and  feelings  that  would  fill 
a  volume,  and  which  would  reduce  Richard  Edney  and  the 
Governor's  Family  to  a  very  small  space  in  their  own  book, 
and  which,  in  truth," gave  Richard  and  his  friends  trouble 
enough,  without  being  employed  to  obscure  the  narration  of 
events  in  his  story. 

What  did  the  Knuckle  Lane  adventure  determine  ?  Not 
whether  the  Knights  Templars  were  guilty,  nor  who  wrote 
Ossian,  nor  whether  mankind  have  more  than  one  origin. 
It  did  determine  this  to  the  mind  of  Richard,  and  others, 
—  that  by  resolutely  undertaking  to  do  good,  something 
might  be  done. 

These  matters,  connected  indeed  with  Richard,  are  yet 
somewhat  in  anticipation  of  his  story.  They  were  two  or 
three  years  in  progress,  and  during  these  years  Richard 
had  other  matters  to  attend  to,  and  to  these  we  must  recur. 


CHAPTER    XXVIII. 

NOTES    BY    THE    WAY. 

A  Tale  is  like  a  web ;  like  muslin,  where  the  thread  is 
regular,  visible,  and  thin ;  like  sheeting,  where  it  is  the 
same,  but  stout ;  and  in  both  cases  the  fabric  is  plain  and 
monotonous.  It  may  be  like  Brussels  carpeting,  where 
the  thread  disappears  for  a  time,  and  is  not  easily  traced, — 
one  color  being  now  in  sight,  and  then  another, — and  yet,  in 
all  mutation,  the  design  of  the  artist  is  preserved,  and  what 
is  lost  in  clearness  of  detail  is  made  up  in  beauty  of  com- 
position. A  Tale  may  be  like  a  garden,  one  quarter  of 
which  shall  be  devoted  to  cereal  grains,  another  to  kitchen 
sauce,  a  third  shall  be  reserved  for  fruits,  while  the  fourth  is 
gay  with  flowers,  and  the  connection  between  the  several 
parts  consists  of  naked  paths  alone  ;  yet  it  is  a  garden,  — 
Horticulture  enforces  its  principles  and  maintains  its  dignity 
throughout,  and  the  innate  garden-love  is  satisfied.  So  a 
Tale  may  have  its  various  departments,  the  only  apparent 
connection  between  which  shall  be  the  leaves  of  the  book  and 
enumeration  of  the  chapters,  and  still  please  Historical  taste. 
There  is  a  real  connection  in  both  instances ;  —  in  the  first, 
it  is  that  of  the  brooding  and  immanent  power  of  Nature, 
which  is  always  a  unity  and  a  beauty ;  in  the  last,  it  is  the 
-  heart  of  the  Author,  which  is  likewise  a  unity,  and  should 
be  a  beauty. 

A  Tale  is  like  this  June  morning,  when  I  am  now  writ- 
ing. I  hear  from  my  open  windows  the  singing  of  birds, 
the  rumble  of  a  stage-coach,  and  the  blacksmith's  anvil. 
The  water  glides  prettily  through  elms,  and  willows,  and 


308  EICHAED    EDNEY   AND 

the  back-sides  of  houses.  There  are  deep  shadows  in  my 
landscape,  and  yonder  hill-side,  with  its  blossoming  apple- 
trees,  glows  in  the  sunlight,  as  if  it  belonged  to  some  other 
realm  of  being.  On  the  right  of  my  house  is  a  deep  gorge, 
wet,  weedy,  where  are  toads  and.  snakes ;  and  fringing  this, 
and  growing  up  in  the  midst  of  it,  are  all  sorts  of  fresh, 
green  shrubs,  and  the  flickering,  glossy  leaves  of  white 
birches.  Superb  rock-maples  overhang  the  roof  of  an  iron 
foundery,  down  under  the  hill  at  my  feet.  The  dew,  early 
this  morning,  covered  the  world,  with  topazes  and  rainbows, 
and  my  child  got  her  feet  wet  in  the  midst  of  glory. 
Through  gully  and  orchard,  basement  windows  and  oriels, 
shade  and  sheen,  vibrates  a  delicious  breeze.  Over  all, 
hangs  the  sun ;  down  upon  the  village  looks  that  eye  of 
infinite  blessedness,  and  into  the  scene  that  urn  of  exhaust- 
less  beauty  pours  beauty  ;  the  smoke  from  the  foundery,  and 
the  darkness  of  the  gorge,  are  beautiful ;  cows,  feeding  in 
my  neighbor's  paddock,  are  pleasant  to  look  upon  ;  Paddy, 
with  pickaxe  on  his  shoulder,  is  happy;  Rusticus,  in  the 
cornfield,  is  a  picture ;  and  the  granite,  through  the  verdure 
of  a  distant  mountain-side,  gleams  out  like  silver.  This 
morning's  sun  idealizes  everything.  Nature  is  not  shocked 
at  toads.  A  Tale  might  be  thus  diversified ;  and  if  through 
it  streamed  love  and  gladness  from  the  soul  of  the  writer, 
like  sunlight,  the  structure  would  still  be  harmonious,  and 
the  effect  pleasing. 

A  Tale  is  like  human  life,  —  of  which,  indeed,  it  pur- 
ports to  be  a  transcript, — and  human  life  exhibits  some 
contrast.  The  feelings  even  of  a  good  man,  for  a  single 
day,  undergo  sundry  transitions  ;  the  subjects  of  thought  and 
occasions  of  emotion  crowd  a  little  upon  each  other.  There 
will  be  great  bunches  of  shadow  in  one  corner  of  a  man's 
heart,  and  right  over  against  them,  and  looking  down  upon 


THE  governor's  FAMILY.  309 

them,  and  gilding,  it  may  be,  their  edges,  will  be  great  ex- 
panses of  brightness.  Through  all  the  peace  and  delight  of 
one's  being  will  be  heard  the  perpetual  wail  of  some  sad 
memory,  even  as  I  now  hear,  in  this  sunny,  enlivening  morn- 
ing, the  melancholy  note  of  the  peewee. 

Richard  had  his  varieties.  During  this  Knuckle  Lane 
business,  other  things  went  on.  Memmy  and  Bebby  lived, 
—  lived  in  his  heart,  and  in  his  arms,  and  in  his  fingers, 
and  in  his  ears,  and  before  his  eyes.  They  ran  all  over  the 
carpet  of  his  days ;  they  sprawled  upon  it ;  sometimes  they 
blew  soap-bubbles  on  it ;  sometimes  they  were  like  twin 
cherubs  asleep  in  one  corner  of  it.  Who  shall  follow  their 
thread,  or  describe  their  figure  ?  Plumy  Alicia  Eyre  was 
another  thread ;  or  rather  she  was  like  the  colored  pile  that 
is  wrought  into  the  plain  warp  of  Brussels  carpeting  afore- 
said, and  is  reproduced  at  odd  intervals.  Miss  Eyre  indi- 
cated, for  a  while,  an  interest  in  Knuckle  Lane ;  but,  for 
reasons  which  will  be  hereafter  discoursed  upon,  that  at- 
tachment was  not  lasting.  Clover,  —  what  has  become  of 
him  ?  He  has  been  absent  a  long  time,  —  not  a  thread  in  the 
carpet,  so  much  as  a  moth  under  it,  and  silently  eating  into 
it ;  and  when  the  carpet  is  taken  up  and  shaken,  there  will 
be  found  unexpected  holes  in  it,  and  many  rotten  places. 
The  Knuckle  Lane  attempt  did  not  demolish  Clover,  nor  did 
the  Griped  Hand  win  his  fellowship.  He  was  like  a  dis- 
turbed ghost,  strolling  through  the  earth,  — a  sort  of  discon- 
certed fiend.  He  appeared  at  Green  Mill  occasionally,  the 
basin  of  his  lower  lip,  and  the  crooks  in  his  upper  lip,  in  no 
wise  diminished.  In  the  night,  going  home  from  his  meet- 
ings, Richard  now  and  then  saw,  through  the  darkness  before 
him,  the  arms  of  Clover  describing  their  favorite  contor- 
tions, like  the  vanes  of  a  windmill ;  and  when  he  got  home, 
there  were  giant  streaks  of  shadow  playing  in  his  imagina- 


310  RICHARD    EDNEY   AND 

tion,and  these  would  sometimes  hang  over  and  threaten  his 
dreams.  Captain  Creamer  seemed  to  wilt  and  dry  up,  after 
his  failure ;  though  whether,  like  the  poisonous  rhus,  there 
might  not  be  some  mischief  in  him  after  he  was  dry, 
remained  to  be  seen. 

But  we  must  advert  to  one  or  two  things  that  bear  upon 
the  fortune  of  our  friend. 

During  his  perambulations,  —  and  perhaps  we  should  say 
his  iiocthagancy,  if  nobody  will  be  troubled  at  the  word  — 
Here  a  verbal  quiddity  plucks  at  the  sleeve  of  narration,  and 
obliges  us  to  stop  and  answer,  that  it  is  hard  to  please 
everybody.  Leo  X.  preserved  with  care,  and  what  whole- 
ness he  might,  the  remains  of  ancient  Rome  in  the  mod- 
ern city.  Sixtus  V.  would  "  clear  away  the  ugly  an- 
tiquities," could  not  endure  the  Apollo  Belvidere  in  the 
Vatican,  and  righted  the  Minerva  by  substituting  a  cross  for 
her  spear;  and  so  he  went  on  idealizing  the  whole  city, — 
that  is,  reducing  it  by  what  he  would  call  the  rules  of  a 
Christian  Idealism.  As  if  there  were  not  a  higher  ideal  in 
suffering  Minerva  to  remain  as  she  was  ! 

There  are  those  who  would  clear  our  language  of  its 
ugly  antiquities,  as  if  pagan  Latin  had  not  got  into  the 
English,  and  become  a  part  of  it,  and  the  best  thing  for  us 
was  to  make  due  use  of  it.  We  might  say  night-ioalking, 
but  that  has  a  bad  odor.  A  certain  one  was  sorely  shocked 
when  he  found  his  good  King,  in  his  own  palace,  playing 
with  a  basket  of  puppies  about  his  neck  ;  —  that  was  low. 
He  was  equally  shocked,  on  returning  to  the  street,  to  see  a 
cobbler  promenading  with  side-sword  and  silk  stockings  ;  — 
that  was  too  high.  Can  any  one  tell  us  what  is  the  aurea 
mediocritas  of  our  tongue  ?  Besides,  even  as  Richard  ad- 
dicted himself  to  observation  in  behalf  of  his  absent  teacher 
and  friend,  Mr.  Willwell,  so,  as  has  been  already  premised, 


THE    governor's    FAMILY.  311 

we  are  writing- with  a  latent  reference  to  our  Usbek  cousins ; 
and  might  it  not  be  well  for  us  to  give  them  some  insight 
into  the  structure  and  sources  of  our  language,  as  well  as 
into  our  manners  and  customs  ?  May  it  not  be  conjectured 
withal  that,  in  their  incursions  into  the  East,  the  ancient 
Eomans  dropped  some  portions  of  their  language  in  that  dis- 
tant country,  and  that  even  ramifications  or  dialects  of  the 
Tartar  tongue  shall  at  this  day  be  found  cognate  with  our 


own 


During  his  noctivagancy,  we  say,  in  the  cause  of  Knuckle 
Lane,  Richard  made  many  discoveries,  and  some  which  dis- 
turbed him.  He  encountered  the  young  men,  Chassford 
and  Glendar,  at  gaming  saloons,  in  tippling  houses,  and 
sundry  places  where  he  thought  they  ought  not  to  be,  and 
where  it  reflected  no  credit  on  the  simplicity  of  their  char- 
acters or  purity  of  their  principles  in  being.  Already,  the 
winter  before,  he  saw  them  at  the  Grotto,  and  the  sight 
afforded  him  any  but  pleasant  recollections. 

Meanwhile  he  called  once  or  twice  at  the  Governor's,  and 
found  these  young  men  there.  Their  air  was  well-bred, 
their  dress  fashionable,  their  conversation  sprightly,  and 
their  ease  absolutely  overwhelming.  With  a  twirl  of  his 
cane,  or  a  touch  of  his  goatee,  Glendar  could  set  Richard's 
composure  shaking  like  an  earthquake.  And  Richard  was 
powerless,  —  he  could  not  avenge  himself.  He  did  not 
esteem  the  young  men,  but  he  had  no  desire  to  vent  his 
disesteem  there.  He  sometimes  thought  he  would  speak  to 
Melicent  or  Barbara  about  them,  but  he  did  not.  They 
complimented  the  Knuckle  Lane  movement ;  yet  Richard 
felt  they  could  not  in  heart  be  much  concerned  for  it. 

An  event  of  greater  interest  to  Richard  was  his  election 
to  the  Common  Council  of  the  city.  It  was  the  second 
spring  after  his  arrival  in  Woodylin,  when,  at  a  meeting  of 


312  EICHAED    EDNEY    AND 

those  who  styled  themselves  "  The  Friends  of  Improve- 
ment," he  was  unanimously  nominated.  Richard  was 
young,  and  a  new-comer.  Yet,  it  may  be  remarked,  the 
Ward  in  which  he  lived,  comprising,  as  it  did,  the  Factories 
and  Saw-mills,  and  all  the  Beauty  of  Woodylin,  had  many 
new-comers  in  it,  and  this  class  of  people  were  inclined  to 
sppport  one  of  their  own  men.  More  than  that,  Richard, 
by  this  time,  had  become  sole  proprietor  of  the  rent  of  two 
saws.  How  did  this  come  about  ?  Richard's  father  owned 
a  saw-mill ;  lived  upon  a  stream  emptying  into  the  River, 
and  was  able  to  cut  more  logs  than  he  wanted  and  send 
them  down  stream.  We  have  said  that  Bill  Stonners' 
Point  was  the  best  booming  privilege  on  the  River.  Well, 
Chuk,  Bill's  sole  lieir,  was  sole  owner  of  this  chance.  And 
whom  should  Chuk  want  to  assist,  if  not  Richard?  Whom 
would  he  strike  the  picaroon  week  in  and  week  out  for,  if 
not  Richard  ?  So  it  was  arranged  that  the  elder  Edney 
should  furnish  the  logs,  Chuk  boom  them,  and  Richard  saw 
them.  More  than  thai,  what  Bill  never  would  do,  Chuk 
was  glad  to  do ;  he  went  up  to  the  stream  on  which  Mr. 
Edney  lived,  and  "drove"  the  logs.  He  rolled  them  into 
the  water ;  he  helped  them  over  shoals,  rafted  them,  and 
tended  them  as  a  flock  of  sheep,  till  he  got  them  penned 
in  the  boom.  He  would  be  out  days  and  nights  on  this 
business,  never  leaving  it,  rain  or  shine,  and  often  waist- 
deep  in  water  for  twelve  hours  together.  This  boom  of 
Chuk's,  lying,  as  it  did,  contiguous  to  the  Mills,  and  so  safe 
in  all  ordinary  freshets,  he  was  considered  a  very  fortunate 
man  who  could  acquire  the  entire  use  of;  and  Richard 
was  considered  a  fortunate  man.  This  circumstance  added 
to  Richard's  consequence  in  the  eyes  of  his  neighbors. 
Then  he  had  so  excellent  a  friend  in  Mr.  Cosgrove,  the 


THE  go^'er>'or's  family,  313 

princely  contractor  for  buildings,  and  who  purchased  of  him 
to  large  amounts. 

It  made  a  great  stir  at  the  Saw-mills  when  it  was  known 
Richard  had  obtained  control  of  Chuk's  boom,  though  per- 
haps not  twenty  people  elsewhere  had  the  least  intelligence 
of  the  matter. 

These  circumstances  aided  Kichard's  municipal  advance- 
ment. 

Yet,  his  success  was  not  without  impediment.  In  the 
first  place,  the  Catapulters  had  long  ruled  the  New  ToA\ni, 
and  expected  to  do  so  now.  Next,  the  Dogbanes,  for  the 
sake  of  putting  a  pretty  trick  on  their  hereditary  enemies, 
"over  the  River,"  declared  for  Richard.  To  defeat  this 
ruse,  the  Catapulters  proclaimed  Richard  a  Mydriatic,  and 
brought  up  Richard's  connection  with  a  certain  horse,  whose 
carcass  Muiik  tfc  St.  John  had  caused  to  be  thro\^^l  upon 
the  ice.  The  Dogbanes  mortally  feared  water ;  and  inas- 
much as  neither  part}'  could  use  Richard,  they  silently  con- 
certed to  pounce  upon  him,  like  the  animals  whose  names 
they  bore,  and  devour  him.  li\  other  words,  they  united 
upon  a  ticket  which  should  destroy  that  of  the  Friends  of 
Improvement,  and  in  place  of  Richard  substituted  the  name 
of  Clover !  This  will  hardly  be  credited  by  our  near  or  dis- 
tant readers,  nor  would  it  have  been  credited  in  Woodylin 
generally,  or  even  among  the  large  body  of  supporters  of 
either  ticket.  It  was  the  result  of  despair  in  the  two  par- 
ties, and  of  indefatigable  management  on  the  part  of  Clover. 
At  the  caucuses.  Clover,  whose  real  character  could  not 
have  been  commonly  understood,  represented  that  he  was 
the  only  man  who  could  be  led  against  Richard  with  any 
prospect  of  success.  In  addition,  Clover,  as  we  say,  elec- 
tioneered for  himself  and  against  Richard. 
27 


314  RICHARD   EDNEY   AND 

The  union  ticket  did  not  prevail,  and  Richard  carried  the 
polls  by  a  handsome  majority. 

In  the  city  councils,  Richard  found  problems  enough  to 
last  Euclid  one  year  at  least,  and  grave  responsibilities  that 
would  make  an  impression  on  the  shoulders  of  a  small 
At'as.  It  was  a  post  where  a  good  man  could  do  some  good, 
and  a  wise  man  be  of  some  use.  Mr.  Langreen  was  Mayor, 
and  Nefonwas  an  Alderman,  and  Richard  was  not  altogether 
without  friends  at  the  board.  He  was  able  to  do  something 
for  the  furtherance  of  his  favorite  idea,  the  Knuckle  Lane 
project.  While  this,  indeed,  had  been  conducted  chiefly  by 
individuals,  there  were  many  points  in  which  the  city  gov- 
ernment could  render  it  essential  service.  It  was  proposed 
to  new-lay  the  street  that  ran  through  Knuckle  Lane,  and 
furnish  that  precinct  with  water  at  public  expense.  A 
large  space  of  ground  that  had  lain  neglected,  quite  in  the 
heart  of  the  city,  was  purchased,  fenced,  and  planted  with 
trees,  for  a  park. 

A  nevv  cemetery  was  consecrated,  called  Rosemarj^  Dell. 
To  this  some  of  the  tenants  of  the  old  ground  were  con- 
veyed ;  here,  also,  a  new  grave  was  made  for  Violet,  one  of 
the  Orphans.  Richard  selected  the  spot,  —  his  friends 
erected  a  handsome  monument ;  with  his  own  hands  he 
planted  shrubbery  and  flowers  about  it. 

On  the  back  side  of  Woodylin,  and  yet  within  ten  min- 
utes walk  of  Centre-street  Church,  was  vvliat  in  some  places 
is  called  a  valley,  in  others,  a  gully,  through  which  the  Peb- 
bles brook  meandered.  At  a  distance,  this  spot  looked  like  a 
vast  redoubt  of  foliage,  or  a  hollow  imbedded  in  trees.  With- 
in it  the  trees,  elms  and  oaks,  rose  to  a  great  height  above  the 
observer.  He  saw  at  the  bottom  the  thread-like  rivulet,  flow- 
ing on  like  a  lover's  joy,  as  strolling,  too,  as  lover's  walks  by 
moonlight,  crinkling  its  way  along,  and  scolloping  the  ground 


THE    governor's    FAMILY.  315 

on  either  side,  singing  and  shining  all  alone  down  its  deep 
bed,  feeding  the  roots  of  trees,  flinging  its  dew  on  the  mosses, 
and  creating  innumerable  little  pleasure-grounds  for  the 
frogs.  The  banks  were  broken,  deeply  embayed,  and  boldly 
projected.  In  this  valley  grew  saxifrage,  and  spring-beauty, 
and  wild  columbine,  and  here  children  came  May-flower- 
ing. The  banks,  too,  were  elevated  and  terrace-like,  and 
the  ravine  narrow  ;  and,  with  the  canopy  of  trees  overhead, 
it  was  a  cool  and  shady  spot,  most  refreshing  to  the  imagin- 
ation and  the  feelings  in  a  hot  summer  day,  and  just  such 
a  place  as  one  would  wish  to  go  into  out  of  the  sun.  Among 
the  children,  this  spot  had  gone  by  the  name  of  May-flower 
Glen.  But  it  had  lost  what  the  critics  would  call  its  unity, 
and  was  parcelled  oflT  by  rough  fences  into  small  lots,  and 
abandoned  to  cows  and  swine,  and  appropriated  by  little 
moss-trooping  children,  v^rho  crept  under  the  fences,  and  by 
birds,  who  seem  to  have  a  life-estate  in  all  that  God  hath 
made.  .Richard,  in  his  rambles  with  Memmy  and  Bebby, 
had  seen  it,  and  admired  it. 

Through  the  influence  of  the  Friends  of  Improvement, 
May-flower  Glen  was  conveyed  to  the  city ;  by  which  it  was 
cleared,  its  bog  drained,  gravel-walks  laid,  and  seats  con- 
structed. It  became  a  favorite  resort  of  the  citizens,  and 
tributary  likewise  to  the  cause  of  Knuckle  Lane  and  the 
Griped  Hand;  since  here  the  rich  and  poor  met  together  in 
ways  at  once  fraternal  and  respectful,  joyous  and  refined. 
So  many  of  the  Knuckle  Lane  people  frequented  it,  there 
was  danger  at  one  time  of  its  losing  caste,  and  becoming 
not  fashionable.  But  Evelina  Redfern  declared,  if  nothing 
else,  she  would  make  a  Christian  duty  of  going  there,  not 
to  speak  of  what  Ada  Broadwell  and  the  Lady  Caroline  did. 

Among  the  first  to  call  at  Willow  Croft  and  congratulate 
Richard  on  his  accession  to  office,  was  Miss  Eyre  ;  and  this 


316  RICHARD    EDNEY    AND 

she  did  in  a  way  touchingly  graceful,  and  insinuatingly  del- 
icate. Richard's  name,  as  one  of  the  Common  Councilmen 
for  Ward  2,  had  appeared  in  all  the  papers ;  and  he  saw  it 
in  the  evening,  and  again  in  the  morning  prints ;  and  it 
seemed  to  him  as  if  he  saw  it  the  next  day  in  everybody's 
face.  Munk  read  it,  and  Roxy  must  look  into  the  paper, 
and  even  Memmy  spelt  it  out ;  and  he  felt  as  if  in  all  houses 
it  had  been  read,  and  looked  at,  and  spelt  out.  Mr.  Gouch 
and  Silver,  who  were  still  in  his  employ,  and  of  CQurse  voted 
for  him,  were  overjoyed  that  he  had  beaten  Clover ;  and 
now  that  he  was,  as  it  were,  a  part  of  the  city,  and  was 
backed  by  the  whole  city  power,  they  realized  that  Clover 
could  do  him,  or  them,  or  anybody  else,  no  more  harm. 
They  colored  Richard's  triumph  and  advantage  so  strongly 
to  his  mind,  he  must  needs  feel  it  was  great  indeed,  and  feel, 
too,  as  if  he  were  the  whole  city,  and  Clover  a  very  small 
spot  in  it;  and  they  were  so  enthusiastic  for  Richard,  —  they 
hurraed  him  so,  with  the  wink  of  their  eyes,  and  the  legerde- 
main of  their  crowbars  and  pick-poles,  —  Richard  might  be 
excused  for  believing  everybody  in  the  New  Town  and  the 
Old  Town  was  his  friend  and  constituent.  The  first  little 
honors  a  man  receives  are  very  thrilling,  and  seducing,  and 
softening,  and  make  one  feel  as  if  he  was  all  champagne, 
and  roses,  and  fiddle-strings. 

These  were  new  sensations  to  Richard.  It  may  be 
doubted  if  Teacher  Willwell  or  Pastor  Harold  had  prepared 
him  for  the  emergency.  He  could  not  now  make  observa- 
tions on  what  he  saw,  but  upon  what  he  was ;  and  this  was 
public  elevation,  and  private  satisfaction,  —  it  was,  being  a 
Councilman  of  Woody lin,  and  an  object  of  so  much  con- 
gratulation. How  would  his  -motto,  To  be  Good  axd  do 
Good,  and  the  great  purpose  of  his  heart,  to  love  and  serve 
God  and  his  fellow-men,  apply  here  ?     He  mailed  three 


THE    governor's    FAMILY.  317 

papers,  the  next  day,  containing  the  report  of  his  election,  — 
to  his  Father,  and  particularly  for  his  Mother,  and  to 
his  Teacher  and  Minis-ter.  He  did  think  they  would  all  be 
glad ;  and  when  he  reflected  on  what  they  would  think  and 
-ay,  and  especially  on  what  his  pious  mother  would  feel,  he 
ilently  prayed,  "  O,  let  me  in  this  be  good  and  do  good  I  " 
When  he  went  to  drop  the  papers  in  the  office,  the  lobby 
was  full  of  people.  Did  these  men  know  what  a  precious 
message  was  crowding  through  them  ?  Could  they  imagine 
what  strong  delight  those  three  wrappers  enclosed  ?  Did 
they  dream  of  the  parental  fascination  in  a  single  line  of 
small  caps  in  those  columns  ?  One  man,  intent  on  a  news- 
paper, drew  in  his  elbows' to  let  Richard  pass;  another, 
opening  a  letter  containing  a  remittance,  Richard  had  to  go 
round;  a  third,  discussing  the  last  night's  play  at  the  The- 
atre, and  chewing  tobacco,  turning  suddenly,  mistook  Rich- 
ard for  the  floor.  The  clerk  in  the  office,  jesting  at  the  window 
with  a  Dry  Fish  Culler  touching  the  removal  of  the  latter 
from  his  post,  for  a  minute  did  not  see  the  papers  that 
Richard  handed  up  to  him  ;  and  when  he  did,  still  laughing 
with  the  other,  he  asked  Richard  if  they  were  pamphlets, 
and  was  seen  to  toss  them,  like  peach-pits,  into  some  hole  or 
other.  The  printers'  boys  jostled  him  with  their  great  bas- 
kets.    Who  cared  for  Richard's  Mother  ? 

So  Richard  had  it  all  to  himself ;  and  there  was  enough 
of  it,  and  it  was  just  as  good  to  him  as  if  everybody  else 
had  it. 

The  clerk's  indifferent  look,  a  hundred  people's  pre- 
occupied look,  weighed  not  a  feather  against  his  own  feel- 
ings ;  and,  perhaps,  if  he  thought  anything  about  it,  he  took 
some  satisfaction  in  seeing  his  pride  go  to  the  stake,  and 
having  his  pleasant  little  emotions  sufTer  a  slight  martyr- 
dom. It  is  natural  to  do  so.  If  people  won't  notice  us,  we 
27* 


318  RICHARD    EDNEY    AND 

retaliate  upon  them  by  calling  them  very  stupid  and  dull ; 
or  by  inflating  our  merit  in  our  own  eyes,  till  we  fancy  our- 
selves too  great  to  be  appreciated,  and  then  going  off  like  a 
hero  to  oblivion.  Our  neglect  is  the  measure  of  our  great- 
ness. We  have  a  certain  bigness ;  and  he  who  belittles  us 
belittles  himself, — he  who  enlarges  us  enlarges  himself. 

So  Richard  was  not  discomforted.  Indeed,  he  experienced 
all  reasonable  attentions.  Nefon  took  him  warmly  by  the 
hand,  and  expressed  great  pleasure  in  the  election.  Several 
smiled  upon  him,  as  he  passed  them,  in  a  manner  which 
said,  "  We  know  what  has  happened,"  The  "  Friends  of 
Improvement "  were  delighted. 

About  this  time  it  was,  we  say,  that  Miss  Eyre  called  at 
Willow  Croft,  She  only  added  fuel  to  the  flame  of  Rich- 
ard's self-complaisance.  The  little  ripples  that  had  been 
stirring  about  in  his  bosom,  she  set  all  going  again.  She 
was  the  breeze  on  his  surface,  and  covered  him  all  over 
with  most  charming  wavelets,  and  foam,  and  agitation. 
She  brought  the  color  to  his  cheeks,  and  made  the  blood 
warm  in  his  veins.  She  talked  to  him  about  his  mother, 
and  how  glad  she  would  be  ;  and  Clover,  and  how  annoyed 
he  was ;  and  the  Common  Council  Chamber,  and  how  hon- 
orable to  sit  there:  and,  like  a  magician,  she  raised  a  mist 
that  rose  from  the  floor,  transparent  and  luminous  ;  her  form 
and  face  were  emparadized  in  it,  and,  like  a  cloud  of  trans- 
figuration, it  expanded,  and  enfolded  them  both.  Never 
was  Miss  Eyre's  voice  so  musical,  never  was  her  eye  so  ten- 
der, never  was  her  sympathy  so  entrancing ;  and  Richard's 
self-love,  his  susceptibility  of  encomium,  his  deep  pleasure 
in  what  had  happened,  —  that  weak  and  soft  spot  in  his  and 
everybody's  nature,  —  that  spot  which  is  so  instinct  with  self, 
and  so  alive  to  public  handling,  —  that  inbred  regard  to 
reputation  and  character,  which  she  touched  so  softly,  so 


THE    governor's    FAMILY.  319 

deliciously,  —  these  were  all  carried  away  by  her ;  and  we 
might  say,  Richard  himself —  for  there  was  not  much  else  left 
to  him  at  that  moment  — Richard  himself  was  carried  away 
by  Miss  Eyre.  Plumy  Alicia's  triumph  was  complete.  No, 
it  was  no  triumph ;  she  would  not  have  it  so.  If  he  seemed 
to  surrender,  she  magnanimously  restored  his  arms  ;  if  he 
was  like  to  grow  impassioned,  she  wisely  counselled  himj 
if  his  eye  had  any  unnatural  fervor,  she  deliberately  hushed 
it.  "Do  not  say  '  love  ; '  —  speech,  words,  breath,  —  what 
are  they  to  the  doing,  being,  feeling  ?  Not  if  you  said  it, 
but  if  you  were  it ;  not  what  you  can  utter,  but  what  you 
can  keep."  She  said  this  with  a  kind  of  memento  mori 
motion  of  her  finger,  and  left  the  room. 

What  he  could  keep !  Keep,  keep,  keep  ;  —  that  word 
rang  a  good  while  in  Richard's  ear,  and  with  different 
inflections;  —  now  upward,  the  doubtful  interrogative;  now 
circumflective,  the  ironical;  now  downwards,  the  grave  and 
solemn. 

That  night,  when  he  retired  to  his  chamber,  into  his 
thought  of  God  and  the  Holy  Spirit  Miss  Eyre  could  not 
enter;  into  his  hope  of  the  Redemption  of  the  world  by 
Christ  she  could  not  enter;  into  his  calculations  for  the  suc- 
cess of  the  Griped  Hand  she  could  not  enter;  into  what  he 
most  loved  of  the  spiritual,  the  humane,  the  beautiful,  she 
could  not  enter;  to  the  deeper  life  of  his  soul  she  was  not 
kindred  ;  of  his  heart  of  hearts  she  was  not  partaker.  Her 
only  place  seemed  then  to  be  to  him  in  some  little  foolish 
feelings  of  the  hour.  Between  her  and  his  principal  exist- 
ence was  a  great  gulf.  He  felt  remorseful  at  what  he  had 
done ;  h6  was  mean  and  silly  in  his  own  sight.  Yet  he 
reasoned  that  in  what  he  said  or  did  he  had  not  committed 
himself  to  her ;   and  while  he  would  regard  her  with  all 


320  RICHARD    EDXEY,    ETC. 

kindness  and  affection,  he  could  not  allow  her  to  be  the  mis- 
tress of  his  being. 

But  of  necessity  Richard  must  see  Miss  Eyre  frequently. 
She  was  intimate  at  Willow  Croft.  She  caressed  the  chil- 
dren ;  she  was  always  chirp,  limber-hearted,  and  free',  as 
Munk  wished  anybody  to  be  ;  she  could  tell  Roxy  what  was 
worn.  Then  she  had  ministered  to  Richard  when  he  was 
sick ;  she  had  that  hold  on  his  consideration  which  a  com- 
munication of  sorrows  creates  ;  she  sometimes  attended  the 
Knuckle  Lane  meetings;  she  loathed  and  despised  Clover; 
she  was,  moreover,  in  a  certain  sense,  poor  and  friendless, 
—  a  dependent,  an  operative  ;  and  she  appealed  to  the  sym- 
pathies of  Richard  by  whatever  lies  in  the  case  of  those 
who  are  sometimes  deemed  as  belonging  to  a  proscribed 
class. 

We  call  her  poor.  She  was  an  intelligent  and  industrious 
weaver,  and  could  clear  three  and  four  dollars  a  week. 

The  next  time  Richard  saw  her,  his  manner  was  cool, 
and  a  little  sheepish; — she  laughed  at  him.  The  second 
time,  she  amused  herself  in  endeavoring  to  rally  him.  The 
third  time,  by  following  the  creep-mouse-catch-'em  prec- 
edent, she  brought  him  more  nearly  en  rapport,  as  the 
mesmerizers  say,  with  herself. 


CHAPTER    XXIX. 


ON    CITIES. 


In  this  connection  and  chapter,  and  moved  bj^  certain 
things  recorded  in  the  two  previous  chapters,  the  author  is 
induced  to  break  through  the  proprieties  of  historical  narra- 
tive, and,  after  a  hortatory  sort,  to  submit  a  few  obser- 
vations on  cities  and  large  towns.  Discoveries  are  being 
pushed,  and  revelations  made,  in  the  principal  cities  of  the 
civilized  world,  thai,  like  the  old  tragedies,  awaken  terror 
and  pity  ;  and  while  sensibility  is  shocked,  philanthropy  is 
puzzled.  What  shall  be  done  with  the  intemperance,  licei> 
tiousness,  beggary,  disease,  theft,  that  abound?  Police- 
courts,  benevolent  societies,  houses  of  refuge,  foundling  hos- 
pitals, are  instituted ;  the  pulpit  and  the  press  unite  in  the 
work  of  reformation.  But  as  it  is  said  the  Ocean  drives 
back  the  w^aters  of  the  Amazon,  so  this  evil  deluges  and 
prostrates  the  attempt  to  remove  it.  What  is  the  cause  of 
the  preponderating  and  disproportionate  vice  of  our  cities? 
Why  is  there  nearly  ten-fold  more  crime  and  misery,  in  a 
given  city  population,  than  in  the  same  country  population  ? 
The  answer  is  contained  in  one  word, —  Density  —  that  the 
people  are  too  crowded.  You  create  a  city;  you  multiply  its 
facilities,  you  open  inlets  to  it  from  all  the  region  round 
about ;  you  boast  of  its  growth,  and  all  at  once,  like  King 
Edward,  before-mentioned,  you  see  a  thousand  little  devils 
jumping  about  your  wealth  and  your  increase.  Then  you 
begin  to  cry  out  for  sorrow.  This  density  originates  the 
Wynds  and  Closes  of  Edinburgh  ;  it  gives  to  London  its  St. 
Giles;  it  develops  itself  in  the  Faubourgs  of  Paris;  it  turns 


322  KICHAED   EPNEY   AND 

to  Ann-street  and  Half  Moon-place,  in  Boston,  and  the  Five 
Points  and  Park  Row,  in  New  York.  Out  of  it  come  what 
are  named  dens  of  infamy,  haunts  of  iniquity.  Density,  — 
high  houses  and  narrow  streets  blocked  together,  inlaid  most 
mosaically  with  each  other,  —  we  designate  as  the  root  of  tlie 
difficulty.  From  this  spring  stem  and  branches,  or  second- 
ary and  tertiary  calamities.  First  comes  a  want  of  ventila- 
tion, and  bad  air;  —  this  generates  every  species  of  moral  and 
physical  distemperature.  Next  appears  filth,  and  this  turns 
into  a  hot-bed  of  sorrows.  This  density  of  the  city,  like 
night,  which  it  too  truly  represents,  is  a  covert  for  vice.  In 
it  the  lewd  and  the  rascally  nestle;  to  it,  from  all  parts  of 
the  country,  the  criminal  and  the  vicious  flee  for  shelter. 
To  over-people  a  given  spot  has  the  same  efTect  as  to  over- 
load the  stomach,  —  there  must  be  pain  and  disorder.  Why 
should  God's  children,  and  Christ's  little  children,  live  in 
garrets  and  cellars  ?  It  was  one  of  the  Divine  promises  to 
Jerusalem,  that  the  streets  of  the  city  should  be  full  of  boys 
and  girls  playing  in  the  streets  thereof.  How  could  this  be 
fulfilled  in  any  of  our  modern  cities  ?  Willis  reproaches 
the  New  Yorkers,  that  they  are  not  willing  to  live  more 
than  one  layer  deep.  It  was  a  dispute  of  the  Schools,  how 
many  angels  could  dance  on  the  point  of  a  cambric  needle, 
and  not  fall  ofT.  Will  the  Home  Journal  —  Home? — de- 
signed to  bless  and  beautify  the  homes  of  our  people,  — 
will  it  tell  us  how  many  stories,  or  bodies  deep,  our  people 
can  live,  and  be  comfortable,  virtuous  and  happy  ? 

In  the  State  of  Maine,  we  have  understood,  some  distance 
up  the  Kennebec  river,  near  the  lumbering  region,  is  a 
place  where  it  is  commonly  reported  the  Sabbath  stops.  So, 
in  New  York,  if  we  are  correctly  informicd,  during  the  hot 
season,  the  Sabbath  stops,  and  the  people  are  obliged  to  go 
to  Hoboken,  or  Staten  Island,  or  Brooklyn  Heights,  to  find 


THE    governor's    FAMILY.  323 

it.  If  these  layers  go  on  increasing,  how  long  before  there 
will  be  no  Sabbath  at  all?  Prithee,  Mr.  Willis,  let  the  peo- 
ple spread,  that  they  may  have  a  Sabbath,  and  worship,  and 
enjoyment,  and  breath,  in  their  own  city,  of  a  Sunday. 

In  Rome,  says  Beckman,"  for  want  of  room  on  the  earth, 
the  buildings  were  extended  towards  the  heavens.  In  Ham- 
burg, the  greater  part  of  our  houses  are  little  less  than  sixty 
feet  high."  He  adds  that  it  is  difficult  to  extinguish  fires  in 
these  high-housed  regions.  Are  such  things  a  model,  even 
with  Palladio  to  back  them  up? 

Cities,  according  to  Mr.  Alison,  may  have  been  the  cra- 
dles of  ancient  liberty;  they  may  have  contributed,  ac- 
cording to  M.  Say,  to  the  overthrow  of  Feudalism;  let  it 
be,  in  the  language  of  a  writer  before  me,  that  "  the  spirit 
of  independence  was  awakened  in  the  streets  of  Boston, 
while  it  slumbered  on  the  banks  of  the  Connecticut ;  "  yet 
if,  under  the  guiding  genius  of  convenience  and  parsimony, 
we  suffer  them  to  go  on  crowding,  —  if  like  Jeshurun  they 
only  wax  fat  and  grow  thick,  —  like  him,  they  will  behave 
very  unseemly. 

But  of  the  past  we  can  only  speak  remedially,  while  of 
the  present  and  the  future  we  can  speak  more  radically  and 
decisively.  A  certain  tendency,  not  onlj^  to  city  charters 
but  to  city  actuality,  prevails  in  the  nation.  Villages  are 
changing  to  towns,  and  towns  swell  to  cities.  What  would 
we  have  done  ?  As  the  cardinal  error  of  cities  is  Densify, 
we  would  redeem  them  by  Openness.  Exterior  walls  are 
gone  out  of  use,  for  the  reason  perhaps  that  the  walls  are  all 
on  the  inside ;  as  is  related  of  the  Irish,  there  are  no  old 
rags  or  cast-off  hats  seen  in  the  windows  of  their  houses,  be- 
cause they  are  exhausted  on  the  bodies  of  the  people.  We 
would  make  a  clean  breach  through  these  walls;  or,  rather, 
as  we  are  speaking  prospectively,  we  would  not  suffer  such 


324  RICHARD   EDNEY    AND 

walls  to  exist.  No  street  should  be  less  than  four  rods  in 
width ;  no  lane,  or  court,  less  than  three.  Dwelling-houses 
should  be  blocked  together  in  not  more  than  twos. — Why, 
alas!  deem  the  "corner-lot"  the  most  eligible,  when  every 
house  might  look  two  ways  ?  Why  should  "  twenty-seven 
feet  front "  mark  the  aristocracy  ?  Why  the  middle  one  of 
each  suite  of  rooms  dark  and  dungeon-like? — Churches 
should  be  the  most  conspicuous  buildings,  and  stand  in  lots 
of  not  less  than  ten  rods  square.  Every  school-house  should 
have  twenty-five  square  rods.  Every  dwelling-house  should 
be  removed  two  rods  from  the  street,  and  not  more  than  two 
families  be  permitted  to  reside  under  the  same  roof,  and 
within  the  same  walls.  There  should  be  central,  or  con- 
tiguous, reserves  of  land,  of  twenty  or  fifty  acres  each,  for 
public  parks  and  promenades.  There  should  be  trees  in 
every  street,  without  exception,  —  trees  about  the  Markets, 
trees  in  front  of  the  shops,  and  on  the  docks,  and  shading 
the  manufactories.  "  A  city,"  says  St.  Pierre,  "  were  it 
even  of  marble,  would  appear  dismal  to  me,  if  I  saw  in  it 
no  trees  and  verdure."  The  glory  of  Lebanon,  the  cedar, 
came  unto  God's  ancient  city,  the  fir-tree,  the  pine,  and  the 
box  together,  to  beautify  the  place  of  his  sanctuary.  So 
much  for  Openness.  And  this  is  what  God  gave  us  when 
he  lifted  the  sky  so  high  above  our  heads,  and  extended  the 
earth  so  broadly  at  our  feet,  and  made  such  a  breathing- 
place  for  his  children  to  inhabit.  This  would  "countrify" 
the  city,  and  that  is  what  we  desire.  Mr.  Downing,  in  a 
recent  Horticulturist,  proposes  a  plan  for  the  more  specific 
distribution  of  houses  and  streets,  which  combines  much 
taste,  neatness,  and  utility. 

What  is  requisite  for  this?  Land, — and,  primarih^,  this 
is  all.  Our  cities  need  not  be  less  populous,  but  only  more 
dispersed.     And  have  we  not  land  enough  ?    Look  at  our 


THE    governor's    FAMILY.  _  325 

towTis  everywhere  that  are  growing  into  cities,  bunching 
together  their  houses,  pinching  their  streets,  stuffing  skinny 
apartments  with  men,  women  and  children,  as  Bologna- 
meat  ;  mowing  away,  as  in  a  hay-barn,  family  upon  family; 
digging  cellars  where  the  poor  must  hutch  and  burrow;  cut- 
tin£T  down  trees,  stifling  the  green-sward,  —  and  have  they 
not  land  enough  ?  The  fault  is  not  wholly  or  primarily 
with  real  estate  owners.  It  lies  in  the  people  generally. 
Every  man  is  over-anxious  to  be  near  his  business ;  so,  in 
advertisements  of  rents,  "  within  five  minutes'  walk"  of  Wall- 
street,  or  State-street,  or  the  rail-road  station,  has  becom.e  a 
leading  recommendation.  Our  merchants  and  mechanics 
will  not  reside  more  than  "five  minutes"  from  their  busi- 
ness ;  and  in  this  circle  of  "  five  minutes,"  as  a  Maelstrom, 
they  draw  their  homes,  their  wives  and  children,  their 
peace  and  purity, — and  within  it,  or  very  near  it,  must  live 
the  Minister  and  the  Doctor,  the  drayman  and  the  porter, 
the  baker  and  the  washerwoman.  This  is  Socialism  with  a 
witness. 

Our  wishes  in  this  matter  are  not  unreasonable  or  singu- 
lar. "  The  numerous  instances,"  says  Dr-^  Emerson,  of 
Philadelphia,  "  wherein  the  mercenary  character  of- 4«divid- 
als  has  tempted  them  to  put  up  nests  of  contracted  tene- 
ments in  courts  and  alleys,  admitting  but  little  air,  and  yet 
subject  to  the  full  influence  of  heat,  has  often  induced  us  to 
wish  there  could  be  some  public  regulation  whereby  the  evil 
could  be  checked."  "  Some  provision  of  law  should  be 
made,"  say  the  Health  Commissioners  of  Boston,  "  by  which 
the  number  of  tenants  should  be  apportioned  to  the  size 
and  general  arrangements  of  a  house." 

"  The  number  of  cellars,"  they  add,  "  used  as  dwelling- 
houses,  is  586,  and  each  occupied  by  from  five  to  fifteen 
souls."  There  should  be  statute  law  against  such  things. 
28 


326  RICHABD    EDNEY    AND 

Very  forcibly  do  this  Committee  remind  us  that  "the  whole 
subject  of  streets,  and  ways,  in  respect  to  width,  ventilation, 
grade,  and  drainage,  is  one  of  very  great  and  increasing 
importance."  [See  Report  of  the  Cholera  in  Boston,  in 
1849.] 

To  our  towns  and  villages  as  they  are,  —  pretty,  thriving, 
hopeful,  —  let  us  say  a  word.  Preserve,  so  far  as  possible, 
the  old  homesteads ;  do  not  abandon  fruitful  gardens,  and 
venerable  trees,  and  time-honored  abodes,  to  shops  and 
tenements.  There  is  land  enough.  Keep  the  burial-places 
intact;  embellish  them,  —  beautify  that  sanctuary.  Do  not 
allow  petty  speculators  in  lands  to  lay  out  your  ways  and 
define  your  lots  for  you.^  If  strangers  are  coming  to 
reside  amongst  you,  encourage  them  to  settle  a  little  further 
back,  where  it  will  be  for  your  interest  to  open  new  streets 
and  offer  convenient  grounds.  All  around  you  are  millions 
of  forest  trees,  the  most  beautiful  God  has  made; — the 
elm,  unequalled  for  its  majesty;  the  pine,  so  glorious  in 
winter,  so  musical  and  balmy  in  summer;  the  maple,  sweet, 
clean,  thrifty  ;  the  white  birch,  that  lady  of  the  woods ;  the 
fir,  whose  dense  foliage  and  spiral  uniformity  mingle  so 
well  with  the  luxuriant  freedom  of  the  others ;  the  walnut, 
with  its  deep  green  and  glossy  umbrage.  There  are  tupelos, 
hornbeams,  beeches,  larches,  cedars,  spruces,  all  waiting  to 
be  transplanted  to  your  villages,  yearning  to  expand  in  your 
streets,  and  throw  their  refreshment  and  their  loveliness 
over  your  grounds  and  houses,  over  your  old  men  and  chil- 
dren, your  young  men  and  maidens. 

We  do  not  say  that  Openness  or  trees  will  save  the  city 
or  the  town ;  we  do  say  that  with  such  things,  those  ren- 

*  All  the  miserable  localities  in  Boston  "  are  mainly  owing  to  the  fact  of  their 
having  been  originally  laid  out  by  private  speculators."  —  Report  of  the  Cholera 
in  Boston,  1849. 


THE  governor's  FAMILY.  327 

dezvous  and  nests  of  sin  and  shame,  filth  and  wretchedness, 

—  those  pests  of  every  sense,  which  torture  sympathy  and 
exhaust  munificence,  which  tax  our  religion  and  morality, 
our  learning  and  wisdom,  to  provide  some  mitigation  of,  — 
will  be  rendered  impossible. 

Says  the  author  of  that  admirable  book,  The  Studies  of 
Nature,  "  I  love  Paris.  Next  to  the  country,  and  a  country 
to  my  fancy,  I  prefer  Paris  to  every  place  I  have  seen  in 
the  world.  I  love  that  city  for  its  happy  situation ;  I  love 
it  because  all  the  conveniences  of  life  are  assembled  there, 

—  because  it  is  the  centre  of  all  the  powers  of  the  kingdom, 
and  for  the  other  reasons  which  gained  it  the  attachment  of 
Michel  Montaigne."  In  like  manner,  and  for  the  same 
cause,  as  a  NewEnglander,  I  say,  I  love  Boston  ;  and,  as  an 
American,  I  love  New  York.  Yet  I  cannot  go  to  the  ex- 
tent of  the  good  man  before  me,  who  adds,  "  I  should  wish 
there  were  not  another  city  in  France,  —  that  our  provinces 
were  covered  only  with  hamlets  and  villages."  I  could  wish 
there  might  be  many  cities  in  New  England,  and  in  Amer- 
ica —  each,  in  its  way,  beautiful  for  situation,  and  the  glory 
of  the  earth  around  it. 


CHAPTER    XXX. 

RICHARD   AT    THE    GOVERNOR'S    ONCE    MORE. 

Months  wore  away,  and  Richard  was  not  idle.  Green 
Mill  prospered;  "Knuckle  Lane  "  steadilj' advanced  ;  the 
"  Friends  of  Improvement  "  were  able  to  effect  some  whole- 
some regulations  ;  the  majority  of  the  workmen  at  the  Saw- 
mills devoted  spare  hours  to  the  Griped  Hand,  and  a  better 
tone  of  feeling  and  manner  prevailed  amongst  them ;  the 
parlor  at  Willow  Croft  was  open,  and  Richard  had  much 
delight  in  it  with  the  children  and  his  friends.  His  Father 
and  Mother  had  been  to  see  him,  and  he,  with  Roxy,  and 
Memmy  and  Bebby,  and  Munk  &  St.  John's  best  carriage, 
made  a  journey  to  the  paternal  home. 

Richard  was  happy,  —  at  least,  as  much  so  as  is  ordinarily 
the  lot  of  mortals.  He  was  invited  to  a  party  at  the  Mayor's, 
to  another  at  Nefon's,  and  to  one  at  Judge  Burp's;  and  these 
were  things  of  which  his  sister  made  account. 

He  called  at  the  Governor's,  —  he  was  quite  often  there  ; 
and,  in  fact,  Roxy,  and  Memmy,  too,  began  to  suspect  he 
was  specially  attracted  there.  Memmy  used  to  say,  "  I 
know  Uncle  Richard  wants  to  see  Miss  Melicent."  It  was 
obvious,  on  the  other  side,  that  his  presence  in  St.  Agnes- 
street  was  allowed  by  the  Family,  and  agreeable  to  Meli- 
cent. So  marked  was  the  cordiality  of  these  two  persons, 
it  became  rumored,  in  certain  quarters,  they  were  engaged. 
The  Family  authorized  no  such  declaration,  —  neither  did 
Richard.  "  If  Melicent  has  her  heart  set  on  Mr.  Edney,  I 
think  she  had  better  have  him,"  observed  Mrs.  Slelbourne. 


RICHARD   EDNEY,    ETC.  329 

Madam  never  committed  herself.  She  said,  still  intent  cut- 
ting out  her  pieces,  "  Yes,  indeed ;  but  young  folks  change 
their  minds."'  "  I  should  never  change  my  mind,"  added 
Cousin  Eowena.  "Are  you  young?"  asked  Madam,  with 
a  start.  Cousin  tried  to  laugh.  "  But  how  am  I  to  regard 
him  ?  "  inquired  Eunice,  —  "  as  a  suitor  of  Melicent's,  or  only 
a  friend  of  the  family  ?  "  "  You  will  not  regard  him  at  all," 
replied  her  mother.  "  You  will  only  behave  properly  towards 
him."  "  I  think,"  continued  Mrs.  Melbourne,  "  Melicent 
ought  to  know  something."  "  She  does  know  something, 
and  will  have  to  know  more  all  her  life,"  answered  Madam, 
"  Keep  a  learning,  —  go  on  to  wisdom  ;  she  need  not  be  in 
haste  to  do  it  up  at  once  ;  we  must  summer  and  winter  our 
knowledge  before  we  really  know  anything." 

This  was  about  the  sum  of  what  a  bystander  could  col- 
lect of  the  feelings  of  that  domestic  circle.  Not  but  that 
Miss  Rowenahad  her  asides,  and  pleasant  innuendoes;  and 
Alice  Weymouth  would  not  only  laugh  outright,  but  even 
relapse  into  great  soberness,  when  she  thought  of  it  all. 
The  Governor  in  no  wise  interfered,  leaving  such  matters  to 
the  sense  and  choice  of  his  children. 

I  know  not  that  Richard  asked  any  questions,  or  received 
any  answers.  He  was  happy  with  Melicent;  happy  to 
work  with  her  in  "Knuckle  Lane," — to  walk  with  her  in 
JMayflower  Glen,  —  to  sit  with  her  under  the  vines  of  the 
piazza.  Into  the  full  circle  of  his  being  she  seemed  to  flow, 
and  melt,  and  be  as  one  with  him ;  into  his  adoration  of  the 
Supreme,  into  his  studies  of  philanthropy,  into  his  estima- 
tion of  man,  and  all  his  conscience  of  duty,  she  came.  St. 
Cuthbert  built  the  windows  of  his  hovel  so  high  he  could 
not  see  the  earth  therefrom,  and  could  only  look  out  upon 
the  heavens,  which  became  his  sole  object  of  contemplation. 
Such  was  not  the  love  of  Richard  and  Melicent ;  it  did  not 
28* 


330  RICHARD    EDXEY   AND 

look  into  the  heavens,  or  the  ideal  and  dreamy  alone.  It 
looked  upon  the  world  at  their  feet,  at  men  and  things  about 
them,  and  life  as  it  is. 

But  lowly  as  Richard's  feelings  were,  plain  and  simple  as 
were  his  delights,  he  Avas  still  a  conspicuous  mark  for  the 
shafts  of  adversity.  However,  in  his  love  of  Melicent,  he 
may  have  had  no  other  consciousness  than  that  of  the  lily- 
of-the-valley,  there  lurked  an  envious  blast  that  would 
reach  and  rend  him.  His  relation  to  the  Governor's  Fam- 
ily must  of  necessity  become  a  topic  of  remark,  —  not  to 
say  an  occasion  of  surprise,  —  to  many.  Roxy,  of  course, 
as  the  matter  began  to  come  into  shape  before  her  eyes,  was 
overjoyed;  Mysie,  who  knew  everybody,  said,  "I'm  glad, 
—  she  is  one  of  the  best  critturs  in  the  world."  Mangil 
said,  "  She  's  never  hard  up."  Miss  Eyre  must  say  some- 
thing, and  do  something.  All  that  she  said  and  did  we 
cannot  relate. 

But  Richard  ere  long  became  sensible  of  her  attempt  at 
something;  and  first,  quite  negatively,  quite  silently.  She 
did  not  bow  as  he  passed  her  in  the  street.  That  was  noth- 
ing,—  it  might  have  been  an  accident.  Soon  he  met  her 
face  to  face.  She  did  not  look  at  him ;  she  averted  her 
eye,  and  slighted  his  salutation.  That  was  positive,  and 
palpable.  She  came  no  more  to  Willow  Croft;  —  that 
meant  something.  He  encountered  her  again  at  a  party  at 
Tunny's.  Her  face  was  dark  with  apparent  rage  or  con- 
tempt. She  flung  herself  from  the  side  of  the  room  where 
he  stood,  as  if  he  were  the  jaws  of  a  crocodile.  This  was 
awful,  —  it  was  dagger-like,  —  to  Richard. 

Here  was  food  for  speculation.  Richard  reflected  that 
he  had  been  friendly,  and  even  indulgent,  towards  her,  — 
that  she  had  been  free  and  easy  with  him.  She  had  even 
sometimes    rallied    him   on  going    to    the  Governor's    so 


THE    governor's    FAMILY.  331 

much.  There  was  an  outer  door,  a  little  porch-way  of  his 
feelings,  where  he  and  Miss  Eyre  could  entertain  each 
other,  sit  and  chat ;  but  into  the  inner  chamber  of  his  nature 
she  could  not  come,  and  he  supposed  she  knew  she  could 
not.  Alas!  here  he  was  greatly  mistaken.  He  had  got  out 
of  the  mist  she  once  raised  about  him,  and  could  see  things 
very  clearly,  and,  as  he  thought,  see  her  very  clearly;  — 
here,  too,  he  was  mistaken.  He  had  always  been  glad  to 
meet  her.  She  was  vivacious,  witty,  pungent ;  and  she 
seemed  glad  to  meet  him.  Now,  this  change,  —  what  did  it 
purport  ?  So  sudden,  too,  so  unpremised,  —  what  had  hap- 
pened ?  She  was  absent  from  the  city  when  the  rumor  of 
his  engagement  with  Melicent  transpired.  After  her  re- 
turn, he  noticed  the  alteration  in  her  manner.  It  must  have 
something  to  do  with  that. 

But  what  with  that  ?  —  what  with  anything  ?  He  would 
find  out,  —  he  would  speak  with  her.  No,  —  she  would 
not  be  spoken  with  ;  —  she  avoided  him,  —  she  went  by  on 
the  other  side, —  she  was  deaf  when  he  addressed  her. 

Did  he  communicate  this  annoyance  to  Melicent  ?  He 
did  not.  He  thought  he  would ;  —  he  was  on  the  verge  of 
opening  the  subject  one  evening,  when  Chassford  and  Glen- 
dar  entered  the  room.  This  put  his  purpose  to  flight.  Why 
pursue  it  ?  Miss  Eyre,  and  Miss  Eyre's  coolness,  were  no 
part  of  him  and  Melicent ;  it  was  a  mere  fleck  in  the  sky 
that  was  full  of  brightness  and  repose  to  him ;  a  fleck,  too, 
at  his  back,  in  some  other  direction  than  that  towards  which 
he  was  looking.  It  was  an  irritation,  and  for  that  reason  he 
would  avoid  it,  where  all  was  quietness  and  joy.  He  scraped 
it  0^  as  he  entered  the  door  of  the  pleasant  mansion,  as  so 
much  mud  on  the  sole  of  his  boot.  Was  he  not  confiden- 
tial with  Melicent  ?  Exceedingly  so.  But  this  was  a  tran- 
sient, temporary  grievance,  personal  to  himself,  that  he  need 


332  RICHABD   EDXEY    AND 

not  trouble  her  with,  — that  he  would  soon  surmount  or  for- 
get. When  one  is  introduced  to  the  great  and  the  good,  he 
instinctively  leaves  behind  his  meanness  and  his  littleness ; 
and  in  the  movement  of  the  affections,  what  is  hopeful,  in- 
teresting, fair,  clusters  together,  as  in  winter  we  gather  about 
a  bright  fire,  and  forget  how  many  cold  and  dreary  rooms 
there  are  in  the  house. 

Chassford  and  Glendar  were  an  embarrassment  to  Rich- 
ard ;  they  embarrassed  him  by  their  looks,  but  more  by  their 
conduct.  In  the  same  room  with  him,  they  disturbed  what 
we  might  call  his  physical  equilibrium;  in  other  rooms,  and 
other  places,  they  disturbed  his  moral  equanimity.  Could 
he  shake  them  off?  Could  he  disarm  their  insolence? 
Could  he  expel  the  consciousness  of  their  dissipation  ?  They 
were  kind  of  suitors  general  of  the  Governor's  Family,  and 
suitors  particular  of  Melicent  and  Barbara.  Glendar  was  a 
fourth  nephew  and  protege  of  Mrs.  Melbourne.  His  parents 
resided  in  a  distant  city,  and  he  came  to  Woodylin  to 
expatiate.  Mrs.  Melbourne  saw  no  faults  in  her  favorites. 
There  was  a  certain  blind  passionateness  in  this  woman's 
affection.  She  was,  as  some  thought,  the  wilful  supporter 
and  prejudiced  advocate  of  those  she  liked.  She  saw  no 
reason  why  Glendar  should  not  marry  into  the  Family.  If 
Melicent  was  preoccupied,  he  might  attach  himself  to  Bar- 
bara. But  Chassford  monopolized  Barbara.  Certainly, 
then,  Melicent  ought  to  know,  to  make  up  her  mind,  and 
have  the  thing  settled  in  the  house,  whether  she  would  have 
Eichard  or  not.  However,  these  were  points  discussed 
rather  in  her  own  mind,  and  just  exposed  edgewise  in  the 
presence  of  the  senior  females,  and  not  produced  before  the 
girls  themselves. 

Chassford  had  a  fine  education,  and  fine  abilities.  He 
led  his   class  at  College,  —  his   professional  promise  was 


THE  governor's  FAMILY.  333 

great.  But  he  was  ruining  himself  by  profligacy.  And  it 
so  happened,  Richard  knew  more  of  this  than  anybody. 
The  shining  talents  of  the  young  man,  his  boyhood  fairness, 
his  visible  industry,  all  the  hopes  and  expectations  that  had 
been  garnered  in  him  by  doting  parents  and  partial  friends, 
concealed  the  defects  of  his  character.  With  Barbara,  he 
could  be,  and  really  was,  musical,  poetical,  ideal,  romantic, 
profound,  spiritual. 

Richard  found  he  had  eggs  to  walk  on,  and  a  plenty  of 
them,  and  some  not  very  sound  ones,  in  the  matter  of  these 
young  men.  Nor  was  he  sure  that  duty  required,  or  expe- 
diency would  justify,  any  suggestions  whatever  as  to  what 
he  might  know  or  think  of  them.  The  Governor's  Family, 
jvithal,  was,  to  some  extent,  terra  incog?tita  to  him ;  it  had 
its  own  customs,  preferences,  and  reasons,  —  its  own  con- 
nections and  law  of  life,  —  and  Richard  might  naturally 
presume  it  would  take  care  of  itself,  and  must  be  indeed  its 
own  keeper.  Then  it  was  a  juncture  of  that  extreme  and 
finished  delicacy,  for  which  he  was  not  adequate,  either  in 
tact  or  experience. 

Lovers  are  oblivious ;  and  when  Richard  was  alone  with 
]\Ielicent,  Miss  Eyre,  Chassford  and  Glendar,  were  like  a 
dream  of  the  night,  which  we  never  think  of  in  the  day- 
time. 

But  he  could  not  always  be  alone  with  Melicent.  One 
day  he  found  himself  at  the  Governor's  alone  with  Mrs. 
Melbourne.  Melicent  and  Barbara  had  gone  on  a  journey 
with  their  Father  and  Mother. 

"If  you  like  our  Melicent,  why  do  you  not  propose?" 
Mrs.  Melbourne  said  this  not  reproachfully,  — not  with  any 
dislike  to  Richard,  but  simply  for  his  sake,  and  to  fetch 
things  to  a  focus. 


334  RICHABD    EDNEY   AND 

"  The  Governor  and  Madam  Dennington  both  sanction 
our  intimacy,  I  believe,"  replied  he. 

J"  Glendar  wants  her,  if  you  don't  have  her,"  added  the 
lady. 

Daggers  again  !  What  could  the  woman  think  ?  Was 
love  like  a  berth  in  a  steamboat,  and  were  lovers  to  say  quick 
which  they  would  have  ?  Had  Mrs.  Melbourne  forgotten 
that  she  was  once  young,  and  had  the  tender  passion  ?  Not 
exactly  this ;  she  deemed  either  of  the  young  men  an  eligi- 
ble match  for  the  young  lady,  —  or,  if  her  judgment  con- 
sented to  Richard,  her  affection  supported  Glendar.  She 
did  venture  upon  liberties  with  Richard,  which  she  would 
not  have  taken  with  some  others,  accounting  possibly  the 
hardness  of  his  early  education  and  habits  a  sufficient  foil 
for  her  own  boldness.  She  was  kind-hearted  in  what  she 
said,  and  would  have  Richard  know,  if  he  did  not  take  the 
prize,  he  was  only  standing  in  the  way  of  one  eager  to 
grasp  it. 

Yet  it  was  not  so  much  Richard's  sensibilities  that  were 
startled,  as  his  recollections  ;  —  it  was  that  Glendar  should 
be  named,  —  the  Glendar  whom  he  had  seen  in  so  many 
unfavorable  lights,  and  withal  in  so  deep  shadows,  —  and  his 
thought  of  whom  was  as  wide  from  Melicent  as  the  realm 
of  outer  darkness. 

He  was  moved  to  speak,  and  vent  his  mind.  So  he  told 
Mrs.  Melbourne  that,  not  a  month  before,  he  saw  Glendar 
drunk  in  a  rookery,  —  that  it  was  not  possible  for  Melicent 
to  love  him. 

Mrs.  Melbourne  was  horrified,  —  too  much  so  to  be  calm,  or 
reasonable.  She  even  went  so  far  as  to  be  more  indignant 
at  the  teller  than  the  story ;  —  she  flouted  the  idea  ;  she  would 
not  believe  such  a  thing;  and,  turning  upon  Richard,  she 
charged  the  story  to  his  jealousy. 


THE  governor's  FAMILY.  335 

Richard  left  the  house. 

A  few  days  afterwards,  as  he  was  sitting  on  the  door- 
steps at  Willow  Croft,  the  Governor's  servant  appeared  at 
the  gate,  and  handed  him  a  note,  which  ran  as  follows :  — 

"  Mr.  Edney  is  requested  to  discontinue  his  visits  at  the 
Governor's.  Depravity  of  heart,  foulness  of  intention,  and 
viciousness  of  life,  cannot  always  be  concealed.  If  he 
wishes  for  information,  he  can  inquire  of  Miss  Plumy 
Alicia  Eyre.  In  the  absence  of  the  Governor  and  his  fam- 
ily, the  undersigned,  retaining  sole  charge  of  the  house, 
deems  it  her  duty  to  protect  its  purity  and  defend  its  honor; 
and  she  would  leave  Mr.  Edney  no  possible  room  to  doubt 
that  an  authority  assumed  by  weak  and  feeble  hands  will 
be  supported  by  others  stronger  than  herself,  and  as  strong 
as  anybody.  Clarissa  Melbourne." 

If  one  of  those  forty-feet  logs,  that  thrash  about  in  such 
hair-brained  fashion,  at  the  foot  of  the  Dam,  in  a  freshet, 
had  struck  Richard  across  the  breast,  it  could  not  have 
affected  him  more  sensibly  in  that  region  than  did  this 
note. 


CHAPTER    XXX 


THE    UNDERTOW. 


Miss  Plumy  Alicia  Eyre  came  to  Woodjdin  young', 
destitute,  and  unknown.  Her  first  service  was  in  the  Gov- 
ernor's Family,  where  she  was  little  maid  of  all  work,  and 
particular  little  maid  of  Mrs.  Melbourne.  This  lady  always 
had  a  pet,  —  if  not  an  animate,  an  inanimate  thing;  sometimes 
it  was  the  asparagus-bed  in  the  garden ;  now  the  horses  in 
the  barn  ;  at  one  moment  it  was  a  poor  widow  in  the  neigh- 
borhood; again  it  was  somebody  arrested  for  murder,  a 
thousand  miles  off.  In  the  present  instance,  it  chanced  to 
be  Plumy  Alicia.  Neglect  in  any  shape  fired  her  compas- 
sion, and  Plumy  Alicia  was  neglected;  her  feet  were  neg- 
lected, and  her  head,  —  she  had  no  shoes,  no  bonnet,  and  a 
scant  wardrobe.  Here  was  a  fine  theatre  for  Mrs.  Melbourne's 
piety  and  benevolence,  and  she  improved  it.  She  taught 
the  child  to  read  and  to  sew,  and  gave  her  books  and  bright 
clothes.  She  put  the  little  maid  under  great  obligation  ;  but 
the  little  maid  did  not  like  the  load.  She  was  froward, 
vain,  ambitious,  or  what  it  may  be,  and  wanted  higher 
wages  and  a  higher  post;  and  she  left  the  Governor's. 
She  exchanged  Mrs.  Melbourne's  fine  chamber  for  Mrs. 
Tunny's  dark  kitchen  ;  but  she  got  better  pay,  a  more  inde- 
pendent way  of  life,  and  a  nearer  view  of  the  world  at  large, 
—  or  a  view  of  Mrs.  Tunny's  view.  Whatever  aristocratic 
aspirations  the  Green  Grocer's  lady  may  have  cultivated,  she 
was  free  with  her  domestics,  —  very  free  with  such  as  had 
lived  in  good  families;  and  Plumy  Alicia  had  lived  at  the 


RICHARD  EDNEY,  ETC.  337 

Governor's ;  and  Mrs.  Tunny  seemed  to  feel  that  her  house, 
or  rather  her  means  of  makmg  a  house,  went  up  a  number 
of  degrees  in  the  acquisition  of  such  a  servant.  Miss  Eyre 
left  Mrs.  Tunny  for  the  Factories  and  Whichcomb's,  where 
this  Tale  found  her. 

Cessation  of  intercourse  was  not  the  only  method  by 
Avhich  IMiss  Eyre  chose  to  signify  her  sentiments  towards 
Eichard;  she  matured  a  story  that  vitally  touched  his  repu- 
tation. With  this  she  went  to  the  Governor's,  and  sought 
an  interview  with  her  old  mistress.  These  two  had  kept 
up  the  remembrance  of  each  other,  and  Mrs.  Melbourne 
ever  offered  to  her  former  servant  and  pet  the  assurance  of  a 
perpetual  consideration.  Miss  Eyre  looked  pensive  and 
sad ;  —  she  was  really  distressed ;  she  was  apparently  out- 
raged. There  was  truth  with  a  coloring  of  falsehood,  and 
falsehood  with  a  coloring  of  truth,  in  all  she  said.  Eichard 
had  been  attentive  to  her,  confidential  with  her,  and  often 
alone  with  her.  These  were  things  not  to  be  questioned. 
"  He  won  my  heart,"  said  Miss  Eyre  ;  —  that  might  be.  "  I 
had  no  other  friend  but  him;"  —  of  the  same  sort.  "He 
knew  that  I  sacrificed  many  others  for  him  ;"  —  that  might 
admit  of  question.  Mrs.  Melbourne  could  see  no  question 
in  it.  "I  surrendered  at  discretion;"  —  true.  Here  she 
shed  tears  ;  —  mixed.  "  Is  he  so  black-hearted  ?  "  flared 
Mrs.  Melbourne.  "  Heartless  ! "  sobbed  Miss  Eyre.  "  Black- 
hearted !  "  continued  Mrs.  Melbourne.  "  He  unites  the  vul- 
garity of  the  lower  classes  with  the  insolence  of  the  higher. 
He  is  reckless  from  instinct,  and  designing  from  position. 
He  is ;  he  must  be.  That  is  it !  I  understand  him  now. 
I  see  through  him.  How  blinded  I  have  been  !  What  crea- 
tures we  are,  when  God  leaves  us  to  ourselves  !  How  can  I 
thank  you  for  opening  my  eyes,  and  all  our  eyes,  before  it 
was  too  late  ? " 

29 


338  KICHARD   EDNEY,   ETC. 

The  result  of  this  interview  appeared  in  the  note,  a  copy 
of  which  has  been  furnished  for  the  perusal  of  the  reader. 
The  original  remained  in  Richard's  hand,  and  brain,  and 
agony. 


CHAPTER    XXXII. 

THE    "  BOIL." 

He  went  to  his  chamber,  fell  upon  his  bed,  and  buried  his 
face  in  the  pillow ;  as  if  his  pillow  could  help  him,  or  cared 
for  him,  or  could  soothe  the  sensations  that  racked  his 
thought.  "  Inquire  of  Miss  Plumy  Ahcia  Eyre."  Yes, 
Plumy  Alicia,  you  had  done  it ;  you  were  at  the  bottom  of 
this ;  you  thrust  that  iron  into  his  soul !  Richard  knew 
Miss  Eyre  was  rash,  fickle,  schemy,  and  fond  of  adventure ; 
he  did  not  believe  her  so  infamous,  so  utterly  abominable, 
so  abandoned.     What  should  he  think  now  ?     What  do  ? 

When  he  came  down  to  breakfast,  the  next  morning,  he 
looked  pale,  and  had  small  appetite.  He  drank  half  a  cup 
of  coffee,  nibbled  at  a  slice  of  bread,  and  refused  a  piece  of 
Indian  cake  Roxy  had  baked  on  purpose  for  him.  His  sis- 
ter took  alarm.  "  Are  you  sick,  Richard  ?  "  "  Not  much," 
he  answered.  "  Have  some  cracker  toast,  and  sage  tea  ?  " 
No.  "  A  good  cold-water  bath,  with  hard  rubbing,  is  the 
thing,"  said  Munk,  who  was  a  real  hydriatic  in  his  way. 
"If  Uncle  Richard  is  sick,"  said  Memmy,  "Plumy  will 
come,  and  Miss  Melicent  will  come  too ;  and  we  shall  have 
such  nice  times,  with  quince  sauce,  and  lots  of  candy ! " 
"  Tanny,  tanny  !  "  shouted  Bebby.  "  Pumy  bing  tanny  !  " 
and  she  wriggled  for  joy  in  her  high  chair,  and  displaced  her 
bib,  and  pulled  her  dish  of  bread  and  milk  into  her  lap. 
"  Dear  me  ! "  cried  Roxy  ;  "  what  trouble  is  in  candy  !  I  have 
sometimes  wished  I  could  never  see  the  sight  of  those  ladies. 
Bebby  is  all  the  whole  continual  time  in  mischief ! "     Rich- 


340  RICHARD    EDNEY   AND 

ard  availed  himself  of  the  slight  breeze  to  make  his  escape. 
Roxy  called  after  him,  as  he  left  the  room:  "You  never 
will  have  anything  done  for  you ;  and  you  will  come  back 
dead,  the  next  we  know  ! " 

Richard  felt,  at  the  moment,  there  was  more  truth  in  her 
words  than  she  always  put  into  them. 

He  went  to  the  Mill,  and  assumed  his  customary  duties. 
But  it  was  hard  to  carry  them  through.  There  was  slipperi- 
ness  in  his  hold,  and  dizziness  in  his  calculations.  He  was 
like  a  man  who  undertakes  to  raise  a  barrel  of  flour  in  a  fit 
of  laughter.  "  Sick,"  muttered  Mr.  Gouch,  "  sick;  and  sick 
is  foolish  to  be  here.     Go  to  bed,  —  be  sick." 

That  afternoon  Richard  went  to  bed,  on  a  cup  of  sage  tea, 
and  slept  soundly ;  he  slept  none  the  night  before. 

He  made  no  blunders  at  tea,  but  drank  two  strong  cups 
of  oolong,  disposed  of  a  large  biscuit,  and  honored  some  new 
cake,  for  which  Roxy  had  obtained  the  receipt  of  Mrs. 
Mellow. 

In  the  evening  he  went  to  Whichcomb's,  to  see  Miss  Eyre. 
"  Plumy  Alicia  may  be  in  to  some  folk,"  replied  the  landlady 
to  his  inquiry  at  the  door.  "  Is  she  in  to  you  ?  "  "  She 
is,"  replied  Richard,  emphatically,  endeavoring  to  smooth  the 
way  through  the  difficulty  of  his  feeling  by  pleasantry  of 
speech.  "Not  as  you  knows  of,"  answered  Mrs.  Which- 
comb.  "  Plumy  Alicia  said,  says  she,  I  am  not  at  home, 
says  she."  "  Is  she  at  home  to  me  ? "  asked  Richard. 
"  Can  I  find  her  ? "  He  began  to  push  by  the  doorkeeper. 
"Ah!  Charley  Walter,  said  I;"  so  the  woman  went  on. 
" '  No  such  a  thing,'  said  he.  They  made  the  awfulest 
piece  of  work  of  it  that  ever  was.  Velzora  Ann  had  on  her 
spick  and  span  new  silk." 

"  I  must  see  Miss  Eyre  !  "  cried  Richard. 

"  Would  you  impose  on  the  Ladies'  Parlor,  which  Cain 


THE  governor's  FAMILY.  341 

hasn't,  and  Miss  Elbertina  Lucetta,  Miss  Allura,  Miss  El- 
zena,  that  was  an  orphan,  and  always  slept  four  in  a  bed,  till 
she  found  Whichcomb's,  and  nothing  relishing  —  "  "Are 
they  all  there  ?  "  urged  the  agonized  caller.  He  enforced 
his  way  to  the  room  which  on  the  door  was  labelled  "  Ladies' 
Parlor."  Sev^eral  girls  fled  as  he  entered,  among  whom 
was  not  Miss  Eyre.  He  did  not  wait  long,  however,  before 
the  object  of  his  quest  came  in  sight.  With  right  thumb 
and  finger  she  raised  a  fold  of  her  muslin  dress,  trimmed 
her  face  three  points  to  the  left,  and  crushed  herself  forward 
in  the  direction  of  the  floor,  like  a  ship  pitching,  and,  rising, 
sailed  away  to  a  chair  at  some  distance  from  her  caller. 
"  What  is  the  meaning  of  this  ?  "  asked  Richard,  or  rather  a 
voice  from  within  Richard,  that  came  up,  groping  and 
trembling,  all  the  way,  through  the  thickness  and  huskiness 
of  his  feelings.  "  Mr.  Edney,  having  precipitated  himself 
through  a  reserve  which  has  been  so  long  maintained,  and 
with  such  obvious  propriety  imposed,  cannot  be  too  much 
out  of  breath  to  relate  the  nature  of  his  errand,"  replied  Miss 
Eyre,  hammering  the  arm  of  the  chair  with  her  fan. 

"  Why  have  you  so  long  avoided  me,  and  why,  at  last, 
have  you  approached  me  only  to  wound  me,  —  approached 
my  happiness  only  to  destroy  it  forever?" 

"  I  shall  not  sit  here  to  be  accused,"  replied  Miss  Eyre. 
"  I  shall  claim  the  protection  of  the  house." 

"  The  house,"  rejoined  Richard,  "  and  all  its  walls,  and 
all  its  inmates,  may  tumble  down  upon  us;  —  you  must 
hear  what  I  have  to  say." 

Miss  Eyre  paced  the  room  loftily,  as  if  she  were  in  a  pair 
of  buskins. 

She  turned  and  said,  "  Is  your  happiness  mv  happiness, 
Mr.  Edney  ? " 

Richard  stammered  in  reply. 
29-* 


342  RICHARD    EDNEY    AND 

"  The  question  embarrasses  you,  I  see ;  you  need  not 
answer  it." 

"  I  am  at  a  loss  to  know  why  your  happiness  should  aim 
so  fatally  at  my  wretchedness." 

"  O,  you  are  unhappy  !    I  am  sorry  for  you." 

"  Have  done  with  this,  and  tell  me  what  has  instigated 
you  to  poison  the  ear  of  Mrs.  Melbourne  against  me ! " 

"  Dare  you  charge  that  meanness  upon  me  ?  " 

"  You  know  what  you  have  done  !  " 

"  I  told  Mrs.  Melbourne  you  had  shown  an  affection 
for  me." 

"  Was  that  all  ?  " 

"  All  you  did  ?  " 

"  All  you  told  her  ?  " 

"  Will  you  say  it  is  false  ?  " 

"  That  I  had  a  love-affection  for  you,  —  that  I  was  ear- 
nestly interested  in  you  ?  " 

"  Eh  !  earnestly,  earnestly  !  Superficially  ?  Partly,  fan- 
cifully ?     I  see  !    I  see  !  " 

"  Wh)^,  at  this  hour,  and  in  this  place,  and  under  these 
circumstances,  can  you  harrow  me  so  ?  Read  that !  "  He 
gave  her  Mrs.  Melbourne's  note. 

She  read  it,  and  said,  "  Do  not  feel  so  bad  about  that. 
Aunt  Melbourne  is  a  little  notional." 

"  If  any  other  than  a  bad  feeling  is  proper  to  the  case,  I 
would  dismiss  a  bad  feeling;  but  I  cannot  dislodge  the 
conviction  that  you  have  acted  very  ungratefully." 

•'  Do  you  love  me,  Richard  ?  " 

"  You  bade  me  never  say  that  I  loved  you." 

"  But  do  you?" 

"  How  can  I  answer  you  ?  " 

"  You  can  say  that  you  do  not.  It  will  be  some  pleasure 
for  me  to  hear  the  word  '  love'  on  your  lips,  —  to  see  it  pass 


THE    governor's    FAMILY.  343 

them ;  even  if  it  went  reluctantly  and  slowly,  —  as  if  it  was 
a  sweet  spot  to  go  through,  —  as  if  it  loved  to  linger  among 
the  impediments  of  feeling,  —  as  if  it  loved  to  hear  its  own 
sound.  Say  '  do  not '  love ;  say  '  do  '  love ;  —  naughty  little 
'  love,'  that  hides  behind  the  '  not; '  —  yet  it  is  '  love,' —  and 
'love,'  or  '  not  love,'  is  the  same.  '  Not  love'  is  love  with  a 
handle." 

"  I  detest  you  !  "  Richard  said  this  in  a  passion,  quite 
wrought  up.  Miss  Eyre  coolly  replied,  "  We  are  even,  — 
let  us  part." 

"  Not  until  I  know  how  you  have  implicated  me  with 
Mrs.  Melbourne !  " 

"  You  did  not  once  kiss  me  ?  You  cannot  say  that. 
You  have  not  that  to  think  of.  How  you  blush !  Color 
fades  from  your  lips  into  your  cheeks  !  —  Well,  well ; 
nothing  should  inhabit  those  lips  but  kisses ;  —  all  the  girls 
say  so.     You  are  biting  your  lips  to  bring  the  blood  back !  " 

The  wretch  !  Spurn  her,  —  crush  her  !  Insane  wicked- 
ness, intolerable  absurdity!  the  reader  is  ready  to  exclaim; 
and  so,  perhaps,  was  Richard.  What  business  has  she 
here  ?  Yet  is  not  all  villany  absurd,  unnatural  ?  Could 
we  get  at  the  springs  of  misconduct,  in  any  case,  should  we 
not  be  surprised  ? 

The  truth  is.  Miss  Eyre  had  formed  a  strong  and  des- 
potic attachment  for  Richard.  She  had  been  resolved  to 
possess  him.  Her  long  silence  and  reserve  was  a  mode  of 
ascertaining  his  inclinations.  She  heard  of  his  engagement 
with  Melicent,  and  knew  how  often  he  was  at  the  Gov- 
ernor's. Her  communication  to  Mrs.  Melbourne  had  a  first 
object,  to  discover  the  nature  of  his  connection  with  Meli- 
cent ;  and,  secondly,  to  dissolve  it,  and  free  him  for  herself; 
and  finally,  if  foiled  herein,  to  be  avenged  upon  him.  At 
this  meeting  at  Whichcomb's,  she  maintained,  with  cardinal 


344  RICHARD    EDNEY   AND 


Uness,  a  single  point,  —  the  development  of  the  actual 
state  and  movement  of  his  mind  and  heart. 

To  be  avenged  upon  him,  in  the  last  resort,  we  say. 
How  could  that  be,  if  she  loved  him  ?  ask  our  gentle,  true- 
hearted  readers.  We  might  refer  them  to  sacred  writ,  and 
Potiphar's  wife.  Joseph  could  not  be  more  astonished  at 
the  order  for  his  arrest,  than  was  Richard  at  the  conduct  of 
Miss  Eyre.  We  run  no  parallel  between  these  two  ladies, 
further  than  to  the  point  of  love  and  vengeance.  We  have 
never  said  Miss  Eyre  was  ill-intentioned  ;  —  she  was  ill-regu- 
lated. The  wrong  she  did  Richard  was  rather  the  wan- 
tonness of  passion  than  the  deliberation  of  insult.  As  is 
said,  the  rare  and  costly  manuscripts  used  in  forming  the 
Complutensian  Polygloll;  were  used  for  rockets,  so  it  seemed 
sometimes  as  if  she  tossed  up  the  sacred  and  precious 
feelings  of  Richard's  heart  merely  for  the  pleasure  of  seeing 
them  explode ;  yet  it  is  evident  in  this  pastime  her  own 
deepest  sentiments  were  involved  also.  She  scattered  fire- 
brands without  seeming  to  think  how  hot  they  were.  She 
followed  her  ends  with  great  clearness  of  heart,  but  with 
utter  blindness  of  eye  ;  or,  rather,  with  a  distinct  aim,  but 
confused  method.  She  was  more  capricious  in  appearance 
than  in  purpose.  But  she  would  sport  with  her  victim, 
before  she  put  him  to  death.  Richard  seemed  to  feel  that 
his  death  was  foreshadowed,  while,  at  the  same  moment, 
Miss  Eyre  was  loth  to  administer  the  final  stroke. 

"  Tell  me  what  you  have  done  !  "  Richard  said  this  so 
sternly  and  coldly,  with  look  so  sullen  and  menacing,  and 
tone  so  hard  and  inexorable,  that  Miss  Eyre  must  have  seen 
the  folly  of  dalliance. 

She  replied,  "I  will  not  tell  you  what  I  have  done;  —  I 
will  tell  you  what  I   will  do  and  be.     I  hate  you;    yet  not 


THE  governor's  FAMILY.  345 

vitally,  but  as  death  hates,  —  as  a  bruised  and  broken  heart 
hates,  — as  a  woman  that  can  feel  hates  !  —  " 

"  Spare  me  this  !  "  cried  Richard,  smiting  his  hand  upon 
his  brow.  "Anything  but  such  a  thing  !  any  torture  you 
may  inflict,  but  such  a  torture !  Do  not  strew  my  path 
with  the  mutilated  fragments  of  a  heart !  do  not  doom  my 
vision  to  the  sight  of  sensibility  in  ruins !  Kill  me  in  some 
other  way  !  —  " 

Miss  Eyre  leaned  her  head  upon  the  arm  of  her  chair, 
and  was  heard  to  sob. 

"  Dear  Plumy  Alicia ! "  said  Richard,  approaching  and 
attempting  to  take  her  hand.  She  waved  him  off.  "  Go," 
said  she  ;  "  your  work  is  done,  and  mine  is  done  !  " 

Richard  took  himself  heavily  from  the  house. 


CHAPTER    XXXIII. 

DRAWTNT    UNDER. 

Miss  Eyke  was  an  enigma ;  to  Richard,  certainly,  and  to 
many  who  may  be  inclined  to  bestow  a  thought  upon  her. 
She  was  of  the  somewhat  numerous  family  of  Eyres,  —  of 
an  obscure  branch,  indeed.  When  she  was  quite  young,  she 
demonstrated  the  superiority  of  her  sex  by  romping  with  the 
boys.  As  if  she  had  early  imbibed  exalted  notions  of 
womanhood,  she  once  undertook  to  break  a  colt.  But  she 
had  no  Family,  no  Church,  no  School.  Her  tendencies, 
whether  good  or  evil,  were  xmsoothed  by  affection, 
unmoulded  by  religion,  unrefined  by  culture.  Her  manner 
in  the  present  instance  was  contradictory,  and  her  intention 
uncertain.  She  deigned  no  explanation  herself,  and  we 
might  be  balked  to  attempt  one  for  her. 

In  five  minutes  after  Richard  left,  the  girls  dashed  into 
the  room;  and  she  was  jocose,  talkative  as  ever,  and  rattled 
away  wdth  the  merriest  of  them,  —  all  traces  of  concern 
having  vanished,  and  her  look  as  bright  as  if  she  had 
just  washed  in  a  sunbeam. 

Richard  did  not  recover  so  easily,  —  indeed  his  power  of 
elasticity  seemed  for  the  moment  destroyed.  To  rise  from 
the  blow  he  had  received,  was  an  attainment  in  his  own 
estimation  impossible.  He  was  naturally  of  heavier  mould 
than  Miss  Eyre ;  —  such,  at  least,  w^ould  be  a  reasonable 
deduction  from  the  facts  of  the  case. 

He  did  not  mention  what  had  befallen  to  his  sister,  or  to 
any  one.     He  bore  the  burden  alone. 


EICHAED  EDNEY,    ETC.  347 

Alone  ?  Richard  was,  or  professed  to  be,  a  Christian ;  and, 
like  his  Master,  he  might  still  have  the  Father  with  him. 

He  disburthened  his  heart  to  God  ;  —  he  poured  the  an- 
guish of  his  spirit  into  the  ear  of  Heaven.  Like  a  captive, 
he  lifted  his  galled  hands,  and  implored  Divine  mercy  and 
love  to  strike  off  the  chainfe.  He  listened  to  the  starry- 
night,  that  some  voice  from  dimmest  ethereal  space  might 
speak  to  his  troubled  soul,  saying,  Peace,  be  still ! 

Had  he  sinned  ?  This  thought  shot  like  a  lightning 
gleam  through  his  brain.  His  conduct,  as  in  a  mirage,  rose 
in  sudden,  pictorial,  prolonged  prospective  to  his  view. 
Many  things  wore  a  sinful  aspect.  An  afirighted  imagina- 
tion would  readily  detect  many  sinful  spots.  He  cried  out, 
with  tenderest  contrition,  "God  be  merciful  to  me  a  sinner!" 

But  the  worst  was  yet  to  come,  if  there  could  be  any 
worse,  where  the  desolation  was  so  entire. 

He  did  not  go  near  the  Governor's  again.  He  could 
have  no  further  communications  with  Mrs.  Melbourne.  His 
heart  failed  him  at  the  thought  of  seeing  her.  Melicent 
was  absent.  What  on  her  return  ?  He  did  not  write  her. 
-A  letter  he  had  from  her  remained  in  his  desk,  unopened. 

What  would  the  Governor  say,  and  IVIadam,  and  Barbara, 

or  Chassford,  or  Glendar,  or ;  but  why  go  over  the 

series  of  interested  persons,  or  conjure  among  possible 
events  the  recollection  of  any  one  of  which  pierced  him  so 
vitally  ? 

Not  many  days  afterwards,  Melicent  returned.  The  Gov- 
ernor's consequence  in  town  rendered  his  movements  matter 
of  public  rumor,  and  in  this  way  Richard  ascertained  what 
by  direct  inquiry  he  might  not  have  put  himself  upon  find- 
ing out.  He  realized  what  was  before  him,  and  waited  the 
progress  of  events,  and  the  course  of  the  hours,  silently  and 
awfully,  as  Alcestis  did  the  unfoldings  of  Fate, 


348  RICHARD   EDNEY   AND 

It  came,  —  came  like  a  thunderbolt  which  one  expects  j 
bowed,  tense,  hot,  and  almost  shrinking,  in  the  suffocating 
silence,  and  dismal  darkness,  he  hardly  dare  open  his  eyes, 
lest  he  should  see  himself  struck.  The  house  shook,  and 
his  sight  reeled,  and  he  knew  it  had  come.  It  came  in  the 
shape  of  a  note  from  Mrs.  Melbourne,  covering  one  from 
Melicent. 

Mrs.  Melbourne  flashed  thus.  "  I  will  not  accuse  you, 
since  your  own  conscience  must  have  done  that  office  for 
you.  I  shall  pray  for  you,  that  God  would  lead  you  to 
repentance,  and  that  you  may  be  saved  at  last.  It  is  unnec- 
essary to  remind  you  of  the  distress  you  have  occasioned 
us,  as  I  fear  you  are  incapable  of  feeling  it.  The  purpose 
of  this  present  is  answered  when  I  inform  you  that  your 
visits  here  are  interdicted.  Melicent,  poor  child,  whose  hap- 
piness you  have  so  rudely  and  vulgarly  assailed,  will  give 
the  dismissal  under  her  own  hand." 

If  Melicent  flashed,  she  rained,  too  ;  and  her  flash  showed 
rather  a  confused  state  of  the  elements  above,  —  rapid  con- 
densation of  vapors,  meeting  of  adverse  winds,  —  than  an 
attempt  to  injure  anything  below. 

Her  note  had  evidently  coihmenced  with  "  Dear  Richard," 
and  "  Dear  Sir  "  was  the  cover  of  a  blot.  And  this  little 
incident  characterized  the  entire  manuscript.  She  was  in 
doubt  what  to  write;  —  whether  to  regard  Richard  in  the 
light  of  conscious  rascality,  or  of  scandalized  innocence.  If 
she  thought  that  a  tender  word  would  be  exposed  to  bar- 
barous insolence,  she  more  deeply  feared  that  severe  words 
would  pierce  to  the  quick  a  virtuous  sorrow.  So  Richard 
passed  before  her  imagination  like  the  changing  Spectre  of 
the  Brocken,  —  assuming  a  new  phase  of  terror,  or  of  beauty, 
according  to  the  fluctuating  mood  of  her  own  mind.  She 
did  say,  "  I  shall  delay,  —  not  my  decision,  for  I  have  none, 


THE    governor's    FAMILY.  349 

but  my  feelings,  —  as  to  which  I  know  not  what  to  have.  In 
my  present  course,  I  must  be  governed  by  others,  who  have 
always  led  me  wisely  and  well,  and  to  whom  I  have  loved 
to  render  obedience.  It  is  well  that  it  is  so,  for  at  this  mo- 
ment I  am  incapable  of  directing  my  own  steps.  I  thank  you 
for  your  information  respecting  Glendar,  since  I  persuade 
myself  it  was  truthfully  spoken  and  generously  intended. 
I  need  not  say  that  my  instincts  had  presaged  what  your 
observation  announced.  I  pray  God  to  have  mercy  upon 
you,  and  upon  me  ;  —  if  you  have  done  wrong,  that  you  may 
sincerely  repent,  —  if  you. have  done  right,  that  you  may  be 
vindicated;  — if  I  am  in  the  way  of  truth,  that  I  may  have 
strength  to  support  the  heavy  blow,  —  if  I  am  in  error,  that 
my  eyes  may  be  speedily  opened.  The  excitement  of  our 
family  is  at  present  too  considerable  for  deliberation,  and  too 
exacting  for  candor.  I  have  but  one  alternative,  —  to  listen 
and  be  silent,  or  to  discuss  and  despair." 

After  all,  "  our  family  "  must  be  construed  as  a  figure  of 
speech,  or  a  natural  trope  of  feeling,  and,  primarily,  denoting 
Mrs.  INIelbourne.  The  Governor  said  nothing,  though  he 
looked  a  good  deal.  Madam  vented  her  surprise  and  sor- 
row in  a  brief  ejaculation,  which  she  capped  with  a  passage 
of  Scripture.  Barbara  knew  not  what  to  say.  Cousin  Row- 
ena  became  very  serious.  Mrs.  Melbourne,  as  she  preoccu- 
pied the  ground,  likewise  preoccupied  all  judgments.  She 
had  seen  Miss  Eyre,  and  she  knew  what  was  what.  She 
had  the  power  of  raising  a  breeze  in  the  family,  and  oblig- 
ing its  members  either  to  scud  under  bafe  poles,  or  to  haul 
to.  Then  Glendar  was  sorely,  and  as  she  thought,  honestly 
thought,  wickedly  involved.  Then  it  was  a  grave  and  a 
dark  matter.  What  could  be  done  but  acquiesce  in  Mrs. 
Melbourne's  foregone  conclusion,  that  Richard  be  interdicted 
30 


350  RICHARD    EDNEY   AND 

the  house.  "  But,"  added  Madam,  "  to  everything  there  is 
a  time  and  a  judgment." 

Richard  might  have  gone  to  the  Governor's,  and  applied 
tongue  and  person  to  dissipate  the  gloom  and  perplexity  that 
rumor  and  speculation  threw  over  the  subject.  He  might 
have  cast  his  own  consciousness  at  the  feet  of  Melicent,  and 
said,  "  That  is  my  vindication  !  " 

But  he  was  unused  to  extremities,  —  he  had  had  but  little 
taste  heretofore  of  what  are  called  the  trials  of  life.  He  had 
fortitude  for  distress,  and  boldness  in  danger.  He  lacked 
that  rashness  —  sometimes  a  virtue  —  which  loves  a  fier^' 
peril,  and  possessed  no  dexterity  adapted  to  the  subtile  and 
nice  points  of  a  dilemma. 

More  than  this,  —  between  Richard  and  the  Governor's 
Family  was  a  Brocken  Spectre  too,  dilating  in  portentous 
dimension,  and  guarding  the  passage  with  audacious  and 
shadowy  arms.  That  was  Miss  Eyre,  and  Miss  Eyre's 
assumed  wrongs,  and  her  real  distress,  and  his  own  unex- 
plainable  complicity  therewith.  He  could  not  banish  her 
image,  or  dispossess  him^self  of  her  impression  and  power. 
She  had  got  into  his  imagination,  and  like  a  vessel  in  dis- 
tress, she  seemed  to  be  stranded  in  his  heart. 

Now,  furthermore,  he  must  prepare  himself  for  the  after- 
clap.  What  had  befallen  must  become  public.  Roxy  must 
know  it,  and  it  would  kill  her;  Munk  must  know  it,  and  it 
would  be  a  damper  to  his  pleasant  feelings  ;  and  Memmy 
and  Bebby  must  know  it,  and  they  would  be  sorry.  The 
"  World  "  must  know  it ;  and  how  rejoiced  it  would  be  at  this 
addition  to  its  Cabinet  of  Entertaining  Knowledge,  —  how 
wise  it  would  become  all  at  once,  —  how  exceedingly  en- 
dowed,—  how  sparkling  and  brilliant!  Richard's  valued 
friends  would  hear  of  it,  —  Mr.  Gouch  and  Silver,  Mangil  and 
Nefon,  Mysie  and  Chuk.     The  Church  would  have  to  con- 


THE    GOVERNOR  S    FAMIT.Y, 


351? 


sider  of  it,  and  "  Knuckle  Lane  !  "  What  icmdd  Mrs.  Tunny- 
say  ?  There  was  Clover  to  be  elated,  Miss  Fiddledeeana 
Redfern  to  sneer,  and  Mrs.  Mellow  to  deduce  a  solemn  im- 
provement.    Aunt  Grint  had  already  been  foretold  it. 

And  Aunt  Grint  was  the  first  to  break  it  to  Willow  Croft, 
"  What  has  happened  ?  "  she  exclaimed,  panting  and  star- 
ing; "my  wrists  ached  Saturday,  in  the  afternoon,  and 
there  must  be  a  storm.  I  met  Mrs.  Tunny,  and  she  was  in 
the  greatest  state  of  mind.  Mrs.  Quiddy,  who  is  hauled 
up  with  rheumatis,  came  out  to  ask  me.  Do  be  quiet, 
children  !  — pity  sakes  !  what  a  noise  !  one  can't  hear  one's 
self  speak ! " 

"  What  has  happened  ?  "  cried  Roxy,  amazed. 

"  I  worked  as  tight  as  I  could  spring  to  come  down.  I 
had  n't  no  more  idea  of  it  than  nothing  at  all,  if  it  had  n't 
been  for  running  out  to  hear  a  woodpecker ;  then  I  knew 
there  was  a  rotten  tree  somewhere,  —  I  knew  it  before  Mr. 
Gouch  passed  the  house." 

"  What  is  it  ?  "  emphasized  Roxy. 

"Don't  you  know,"  replied  Aunt  Grint,  "that  that  Miss 
Dennington  — " 

"  She  is  n't  dead  !  "  screamed  Roxy. 

"  No,  indeed  !  " 

"  Nor  taken  the  cholera  ?  " 

"  Only  think  !  "  Aunt  Grint's  loud  and  masculine  voice 
sank  to  an  unnatural  susurration.  "  She  has  turned  off 
Richard;  the  engagement  is  broke  up.  I  might  have  seen 
it.  The  spider,  —  't  was  when  I  was  sewing  with  my  basket 
on  the  table,  and  Sally  a-sweeping  the  floor,  —  the  crittur 
never  come  nigh,  but  kept  edging  round.  I  told  Sally  we 
should  n't  have  a  wedding  gown  — " 

Roxy,  meanwhile,  let  fall  the  bellows  that  she  had  been 
trying  for  five  minutes  to  hang  up ;  she  suffered  the  milk  to 


352  RICHARD    EDNEY    AND 

boil  over  on  the  coals ;  she  did  not  prevent  Bebby  going  to 
the  sugur-bucket  in  the  closet,  —  three  things  that  she  had  not 
done  or  forborne  to  do,  before,  all  her  life.  She  attempted  to 
listen  ;  but  her  ear  was  clearer  than  her  mind  ;  —  or,  as  is 
said  of  the  telegraph  wires,  the  auditory  nerve  was  down 
somew'here.  Sundry  exclamations,  however,  indicated  that 
she  was  alarmed,  while  her  rushing  to  seize  Bebby  showed 
that,  if  her  feelings  could  find  vent  somewhere,  she  might 
be  calm  and  self-possessed.  She  quietly  washed  the  child's 
hands,  and  sat  down  with  her  in  the  little  rocking-chair. 
She  asked  Aunt  Grint  but  one  question,  the  reply  to  which 
removed  the  necessity  of  all  further  communications  touch- 
ing the  credibility  of  the  information  she  had  characteris- 
tically but  crookedly  conveyed,  and  was  still.  She  was  very 
still,  and  calm,  and  motionless  ;  so  much  so,  the  child  looked 
into  her  face,  as  if  something  was  the  matter.  She  stroked 
the  child's  sunny  locks. 

Presently  Richard  came  in.  He  perceived  the  condition 
of  things.  He  was  composed,  but  a  little  flushed ;  his  lip 
quivered,  and  his  voice  was  tremulous ;  —  yet  a  smile  shot 
up  through  his  face,  —  a  sort  of  Zodiacal  Light,  through 
which  might  be  seen  the  gray  infinitude  of  his  sorrow, 
beneath  which  the  sun  of  his  hope  had  set,  while  in  the 
still  vault  around  burned  the  stars  of  pure  feeling,  like  ves- 
tal lamps,  that  burned  on  only  because  it  was  in  their  des- 
tiny never  to  go  out. 

Roxy  said  nothing ;  she  looked  at  Richard,  and  instantly 
her  gaze  was  stricken  to  the  floor.  She  rose,  set  the  child 
deliberately  on  its  feet,  went  to  her  brother,  threw  her  arms 
about  his  neck,  and  they  both  wept. 

Aunt  Grint  trotted  her  heel  on  the  floor,  drummed  the 
window-sill  with  her  finger,  took  the  boiling  milk  from  the 
coals,  and  went  away. 


THE    governor's    FAMILY.  35S 

It  was  a  great  sorrow  to  Roxy,  and  a  real  one.  There 
was  body  to  it.  The  petty  annoyances,  and  transient  disa- 
greements, that  ruffled  so  many  of  her  hours,  were  drowned 
out  by  this  profound  woe;  —  or,  to  change  the  metaphor,  as 
a  heavy  rain  arrests  the  agitation  of  waves,  and  smooths 
the  surface  of  the  sea,  this  pouring  event  restored  the  uni- 
formity of  her  spirits,  and  filled  her  with  serene  thought- 
fulness.  She  seemed  to  comprehend  the  extent  of  the 
calamity  of  her  brother,  and,  as  by  some  inspiration,  to  take 
a  sense  of  the  mischief  secretly  working  at  the  centre  of  it, 
and  she  rose  to  the  height  of  the  evil  that  so  suddenly 
unfolded  before  her. 

In  sympathizing  with  her  brother,  Roxy  lost  much  of  her 
petulancy  and  caprice,  and  ingenuous  concern  for  real  sufl^er- 
ing  supplanted  a  morbid  nettlesomeness  to  fancied  evils. 

Richard  could  but  confirm  to  his  sister  what  Aunt  Grint 
had  stated  as  to  his  separation  from  Melicent.  He  did  not, 
however,  feel  at  liberty  to  discuss  all  the  causes  that  may 
have  led  to  it ;  nor  did  he  allude  to  the  probable  agency  of 
Miss  Eyre  in  the  affair. 

But  Roxy,  whose  keenness  of  penetration  exceeded  Rich- 
ard's wise  reserve,  said,  in  a  knowing  way,  "  Has  Plumy 
Alicia  anything  to  do  with  it  ? "  Richard  assented,  by  try- 
ing to  be  silent.  "  I  will  not  press  an  answer,"  said  Roxy. 
Now  Richard  nodded  and  added,  "  I  do  not  wish  to  speak 
of  that;  I  cannot."  His  sister  replied,  "  I  understand  it;  I 
think  I  do.  I  recall  many  things  at  this  moment  that  have 
a  bearing  upon  it.  I  will  be  silent  as  long  as  you  wish  me 
to  be." 

"  You  are  not  dead  ?  "  said  Richard. 

"  How  you  talk  !  " 

"  I  thought  it  would  kill  you." 

"  You  banter  me,"  answered  Roxy.  "  I  have  been  so 
30^ 


354  RICHARD    EDNEY,    ETC. 

often  at  the  point  of  death  upon  little  things,  this  great 
thing  may  restore  me  to  life." 

This  remark  of  Roxy's,  generalized  into  a  trait  of  charac- 
ter, is  not  without  distinguished  precedent.  Great  Henry 
of  France  "  was  less  than  a  woman  in  a  coach,  and  cried 
out  whenever  it  appeared  likely  to  overturn,  and  betrayed 
the  utmost  timidity.  But  in  the  field  he  was  brave  even  to 
intrepidity,  and  accustomed  to  regard  death  in  the  ranks  of 
war  with  the  highest  composure." 


CHAPTER    XXXIV. 

FLOOD   CONTINUES   TO    KISE. 

Richard  had  now  commiseration  from  his  friends,  in 
place  of  the  congratulations  that  were  still  green  in  his 
memory.  To  be  pitied  is  sometimes  more  disagreeable 
than  to  be  blamed.  The  latter  inspires  rejoinder,  while  the 
former  leaves  us  nothing  to  say.  One  befogs  us  in  an 
uncomfortable  stupidity ;  the  other  is  like  a  bomb-shell  in 
the  midst  of  our  activity,  and  arouses  the  impulse  of  flight. 
We  extenuate  our  faults  ;  we  tremble  at  our  misfortunes. 
We  can  remonstrate  with  malediction ;  we  must  submit  to 
compassion. 

The  Mill-men  expressed  their  pity  chiefly  in  silence. 
When  they  were  filing  their  saws,  or  squinting  at  the  mark, 
or  even  bending  over  a  cant-dog,  they  seemed  to  have  one 
eye  on  Richard,  —  not  tauntingly,  not  even  vulgarly  curious, 
—  but  with  a  sort  of  sympathy  —  with  some  genuine  fellow- 
feeling  ;  —  for  Richard  was  respected  and  beloved  in  the 
Mill.  If  they  had  only  spoken,  —  if  they  had  asked  him. 
something,  —  it  v^^ould  have  been  a  relief.  No :  he  was 
mistaken  there.  It  would  do  him  no  good.  He  could  not 
continue  the  conversation. 

In  the  grating,  rumbling,  screeching,  of  the  building  at 
large,  there  was  not  much  kindness  indicated,  but  rather  a 
sullen  mockery. 

Silver  sat  on  a  pile  of  boards,  and  clumsily  beckoned 
Richard  to  his  side.  But  Silver  could  n't  speak  ;  his  tongue 
was  always  thick,  and  now  it  filled  his  mouth,  —  filled  it 


356  -RICHARD    EDNEY   AND 

even  to  the  exclusion  of  his  pipe,  which  he  was  obliged  to 
withdraw.  Taking  out  the  pipe,  like  unplugging  a  hogs- 
head of  liquor,  sometimes  gives  vent  to  words.  It  did  not 
help  Silver ;  he  was  still  thick  and  ropy.  He  struck  his 
iron  bar  tremendously  on  a  log  before  him,  and  got  up. 

Mr.  Gouch,  pointing  quickly  to  the  Dam,  said,  "  There  !  " 
and  then,  as  he  knocked  up  the  bail-dog,  he  said,  "  There  !  " 
and  every  time  he  struck,  he  repeated,  "  There  ! " 

The  Dam,  Eichard  could  render.  But  driving  in  the 
bail-dog, —  did  that  mean  how  the  iron  had  gone  into  his 
soul?     Perhaps  it  did. 

Mrs.  Tunny  entered  Willow  Croft  with  a  mingled  air  of 
disdain,  triumph,  and  pity,  over  the  Avhole  of  which  was 
spread  a  very  thin  layer  of  magnanimity.  But  neither 
Eoxy  nor  Richard  was  deceived  or  plagued  by  her. 

Hitherto,  Richard's  fortune  only  was  involved,  while  his 
character  remained  untouched.  But  in  a  few  days,  the  more 
depressing  intelligence  reached  his  ears,  that  he  was  under 
reproach,  that  baseness  of  conduct  was  assigned  as  the 
cause  of  his  dismissal,  and  that  such  a  statement  came 
authentically  from  the  Governor's  Family  itself. 

Well,  here  was  blame,  if  that  suited  him  any  better.  1 
think  it  did  not.  For  now  he  would  be  expected  either  to 
afhrm  or  deny ;    and  he  could  do  neither. 

Now,  not  only  the  iron  entered  his  soul,  but  it  seemed  to 
be  rusting  in,  and  gangrening  everything  in  its  neighbor- 
hood. It  was  like  a  return  stroke  of  the  lightning.  His 
spirits,  that  had  been  bending  like  willows,  appeared  to  be 
fairly  draggled  in  the  mire.  He  had  now  the  world  to 
encounter  in  its  most  dismal  form, — that  of  contumely, 
sarcasm,  and  neglect.  Frederick,  at  the  siege  of  Brescia, 
when  he  could  carry  his  point  in  no  other  way,  exposed  his 
prisoners  on  his  battering-rams  to  the  stones  of  the  besieged, 


THE    governor's    FAMILY.  851 

their  friends.  If  Richard  had  one  poor  virtue  in  common 
with  the  rest  of  mankind,  he  hardly  dare  present  it  to  what 
he  conceived  would  be  a  general  attack  upon  him.  He 
would  prefer  to  retire  from  the  contest.  The  river-logs, 
with  which  his  early  years  were  familiar,  in  a  freshet,  are 
sometimes  carried  high  up  the  bank,  or  floated  into  a  contig- 
uous flat,  where  the  receding  waters  suffer  them  to  mildew, 
doze,  and  perish.  Recent  events,  that  had  borne  him  a  good 
distance  from  his  proper  source,  and  precipitated  him  down 
sundry  cataracts,  had  at  length  landed  him  in  a  low  thicket, 
where  he  was  willing  to  die. 

He  lessened  his  visits  to  the  Old  Town.  There  was 
nothing  pleasant  there.  One  day  he  met  Melicent.  She 
stiffly  bowed ;  but  this  was  owing  as  much  to  hesitancy  of 
feeling,  as  to  purpose  of  will.  Immediately  afterwards, 
a  man  inquired  if  he  could  direct  him  to  Munk  &  St. 
John's  stable.  He  did  not  hear  him,  and  replied,  "  No.  16 
Victoria  Square."  Mrs.  Melbourne  passed  him  without  a 
token  of  recognition.  By  this  time,  his  heart  had  got  pretty 
well  into  his  mouth,  and,  like  Silver's  tongue,  there  would 
seem  to  be  hardly  anything  else  there ;  and  he  found  it  not 
easy  to  swallow  again.  It  would  get  into  his  eyes,  too,  as 
big  as  a  beam,  and  into  his  ears.  We  have  said  that  Miss 
Eyre  had  got  into  his  heart ;  of  course,  she  accompanied 
that  organ  occasionally  in  its  visits  to  the  several  senses. 
He  met  Glendar,  and  Glendar  looked  as  if  he  could  eat 
him  ;  and  Richard  felt  he  should  not  be  sorry  if  he  did. 

But  Richard  was  a  Christian,  and  the  impulse  of  his  life 
had  been,  doing  good  and  being  good.  Nor  could  he  now 
forget  this  original  obligation.  His  closet,  and  the  family- 
altar  he  had  helped  to  rear  at  Willow  Croft,  and  his  Bible, 
every  day  reminded  him  of  it ;  —  it  caught  his  eye  in  large 
street-bill  type  on  the  wall  of  his  chamber,  where  Pastor 


558  KICHARD    EDNEY   AND 

Harold  recommended  his  young  parisliioners  to  post  it;  Sun- 
days, and  the  "  Knuckle  Lane  "  evenings,  brought  it  round 
to  him. 

What  should  he  do  ?  He  read  that  if  he  had  offended 
his  brother,  before  he  offered  his  gift  to  the  Lord,  he  must 
go  and  be  reconciled  to  his  brother.  He  had  offended  Mrs. 
Melbourne,  and  Miss  Eyre,  and  perhaps  Melicent.  But 
how  to  be  reconciled  !  He  would  endeavor  to  be  reconciled 
in  his  own  heart  and  before  God,  if  he  could  not  in  outward 
relation  and  before  his  fellows.  If  reviled,  he  would  revile 
not  again,  and  abuse  he  would  return  with  benisons.  But 
the  wall  of  offence  seemed  to  grow  thicker  and  higher. 

In  naval  engagements,  the  Athenians  were  wont  to 
reserve  huge  masses  of  lead  in  the  tops  of  their  vessels ;  and 
when  they  could  subdue  the  enemy  in  no  other  way,  they 
let  fall  these  rather  cogent  junks,  and  sank  his  ship.  There 
were  some  things  in  reserve  for  Richard. 

Now^,  Madam  Bennington  had  a  feeling  in  common  rather 
with  her  daughter  than  with  her  cousin-in-law.  To  be  sure, 
if  _Richard  was  what  had  been  represented,  there  could  be 
no  doubt  as  to  the  propriety  of  the  course  the  Family 
adopted  respecting  him.  But  had  the  case  been  sufficiently 
investigated  ?  Mrs.  Melbourne  conceded  that  the  examina- 
tion might  be  extended,  though  she  anticipated  no  favorable 
result ;  nay,  more,  as  if  a  new  trial  had  been  granted,  she 
was  willing  to  act  in  the  premises,  and  collect  and  revise 
the  evidence.  She  had  had  Mrs.  Eyre  closeted  with  her ; 
and  when,  in  her  black  silk  and  green  parasol,  she  started 
on  her  tour  of  inquiry,  who  should  be  her  cicerone  but  Miss 
Eyre  ? 

The  forenoon's  work  resulted  in  a  sort  of  council  or 
inquest,  to  be  holden  at  Whichcomb's  in  the  afternoon. 
Mrs,  Melbourne  sent  a  candid  and  polite  note  to  Richard, 


THE  governor's  FAMILY.  359 

informing  him  of  what  was  a-foot,  and  inviting  him  to  be 
present.  He  chose  rather  to  appear  by  attorney,  and  Roxy 
went  in  his  stead. 

There  were  assembled  at  the  Boarding  House,  —  Front 
Stairs  Carpeted,  and  that  was  not  Cain's,  —  in  the  "  Ladies' 
Parlor,"  the  head  of  the  establishment,  Mrs.  Melbourne, 
Miss  Rowena,  Mrs.  Tunny,  Mrs.  Mellow,  Mrs.  Xyphers, 
Miss  EjTe,  Mrs.  Crossmore,  Nurse,  Miss  Elbertina  Lucetta, 
Factory  Girl,  and  Roxy. 

Mrs.  Whichcomb  introduced  the  testimony.  "  It  was  a 
Wednesday,"  she  said;  "a  Monday  we  didn't  wash,  which 
sometimes  is,  and  the  next  day  the  things  froze  on  the  line. 
It  was  one  of  the  coldest  days  that  ever  was  ;  it  was  a  heavy 
wash,  as  Cain's  folk  know,  for  it  is  right  in  sight  of  their 
basement,  where  they  scour  their  pewter." 

"  Won't  you  tell,"  said  Miss  Eyre,  "  what  he  did  in  the 
house !" 

"  It  was  a  Wednesday,  for  I  had  been  up  late  ironing, 
and  tending  on  the  sick,  and  getting  jellies,  and  carrying  up 
wood,  which  is  to  be  found  at  Whichcomb's,  and  is  a  most 
an  excellent  place  to  board  at,  as  all  the  girls  say,  and  nigh 
upon  twelve  o'clock,  when  he  came  in  and  went  right  up  to 
No.  3.  O  Charley  Walter!  where  is  he  now?  My  bones 
were  aching  in  bed  when  I  heard  it;  and  he  staid  with  them 
all  night ;  for  Miss  Junia,  and  Violet  that 's  dead  and  gone, 
would  n't  dare  to  deny  it.  If  Velzora  Ann  had  only  a 
thought;  for  Miss  Elbertina  Lucetta  was  just  as  sure  to  tell 
of  it  as  the  world ;  and  there  was  n't  a  grain  of  need  of  his 
going  in  there." 

"  What  did  he  go  there  for  ? "  asked  Roxy. 

"  I  won't  say  it  was  for  the  silver  spoon ;  I  scorn  to  make 
such  a  charge,  if  folks  was  sick,  and  he  was  mean  enough 
to  do  it,  for  they  have  what  they  please  at  Whichcomb's, 


S6(f  RICHARD    EDNEY    AND 

and  the  thino-s  are  always  on  the  table.  He  knows  what 
he  was  there  for,  and  what  never  happened  here  before,  as 
Charley  Walter  said;  and  he  owned  the  next  morning,  and 
our  reputation  was  good,  and  if  they  wanted  to  see  them, 
they  could  always  do  it  in  the  Ladies'  Parlor,  Miss  Elzena 
knows,  and  the  new  comers  know  it  the  first  day." 

"  He  must  have  been  there  with  an  evil  intention,"  said 
Mrs.  Melbourne.  Mrs.  Tunny  winked ;  Mrs.  Mellow  sighed 
a  response. 

"  Rowena,  what  do  you  say  ?  "  Mrs.  Melbourne  put  this 
question. 

"  I  do  not  know  as  I  can  say  but  it  looks  bad,"  Miss  Row- 
ena replied,  with  a  most  uncomfortable  attempt  at  evasion. 

"  It  does  so  !  "  ejaculated  Mrs.  Whichcomb. 

"It  is  impossible  !  "  exclaimed  Roxy. 

Now,  Roxy  was  unfortunately  situated.  Ostensibly  the 
advocate  of  the  accused,  she  really,  by  imputation,  occupied 
the  dock  in  his  place ;  or  she  appeared  an  interested  and 
most  partial  witness,  and  her  word  was  worth  just  as  much 
as  the  prisoner's  would  be  in  room  of  it,  and  no  more. 

Where  was  the  Old  Man?  He  was  an  imbecile. 
Where  was  Jiinia?  Miss  Eyre  was  willing  Junia  should 
be  called  ;  and  added,  with  an  air  of  confidence  that  silenced 
all  expectation  from  this  quarter,  she  hoped  they  would  send 
for  her.  She  had  heard,  indeed,  that  she  had  gone  to  parts 
unknown ;  but  they  might  write. 

"  Did  not  Captain  Creamer  order  Richard  to  stay  by  the 
old  man  ?  "  asked  Roxy. 

At  this  question  and  moment,  a  new  champion  of  Rich- 
ard appeared,  in  Miss  Freeling,  the  Dressmaker,  She  was 
at  work  at  Tunny's  when  Mrs.  Melbourne  called  in  the 
morning.  At  some  sacrifice  of  wages,  and  greater  of  Mrs. 
Tunny's  pleasure,  she  resolved  to  attend  the  examination, 


THE    GOVERNORS    FAMILY. 


361 


and  came  in  just  as  Eoxy  propounded  the  aforesaid  question. 
She  declared  Captain  Creamer  ought  to  be  sent  for,  and  his 
testimony- heard.  Mrs.  Melbourne  saw  the  reasonableness 
of  this.  Word  was  accordingly  despatched  to  the  old 
employer  of  the  arraigned ;  but  he  replied  he  would  have 
nothing  to  do  with  the  fellow,  and  that  nothing  was  too  bad 
for  him,  or  after  that  sort :  and  this  answer,  while  it  palsied 
Roxy,  and  horrified  Miss  Freeling,  was  what  the  rest 
expected,  as  it  entirely  satisfied  Mrs.  Melbourne. 

Moreover,  by  well-directed  cross-questioning,  Miss  Eyre 
drew  from  Roxy  that  Richard  seemed  very  attentive  to 
Junia ;  that  he  obtained  board  for  her  at  Willow  Croft,  and, 
finally,  that  he  went  with  her  into  the  country. 

So  matters  went  on.  Mrs.  Tunny  corroborated  Miss 
Eyre  as  to  Richard's  being  some  time  alone  with  her,  on 
the  back  stairs,  at  a  party  at  her  house.  What  was  herein, 
insinuated  brought  Miss  Freeling  to  her  feet.  She  was  at 
the  same  party,  and  had  a  long  conversation  with  Richard ; 
she  knew  him  better;  he  was  a  noble,  high-minded  man. 
But  Miss  Freeling  was  like  a  stray  grasshopper  in  a  brood 
of  turkeys,  each  ready  to  devour  her. 

There  was  more  than  one  mass  of  lead.  Mrs.  Crossmore, 
disappointed  Nurse,  resident  in  Knuckle  Lane,  had  seen 
Richard  in  unseemly  places,  at  unseemly  hours. 

Mrs.  Xyphers,  unfortunate  woman,  divorced  from  her 
husband,  fooled  by  Clover,  now  a  crony,  now  an  enemy  of 
Miss  Eyre,  —  broken  in  spirit,  confused  in  judgment,  distrust- 
ful of  everybody, — was  induced  to  say,  what  she  believed 
to  be  true,  that  she  had  no  doubt  Richard  was  base  and 
unprincipled. 

Miss  Elbertina  Lucetta  attempted  no  more  than  the  con- 
firmation of  Mrs.  Whichcomb's  story,  that  Richard  was  at 
31 


362  RICHARD    EDNEY   AND 

the  house,  suspiciously,  one  winter  night.  She  occupied 
the  next  chamber,  and  was  awake  with  the  tooth-ache. 

Mrs.  Mellow,  Tract-distributor,  had  been  in  all  parts  of 
the  city;  she  had  tried  the  public  pulse  on  the  Knuckle 
Lane  movement,  raked  for  opposition  to  it,  and  collected 
whatever  gossiping  items  might  w^ork  against  it,  or  its 
originators ;  and  she  was  able  to  recount  some  things  that 
reflected,  not  positively,  she  said,  but  presumptively,  on 
Richard.  But,  from  a  little  personal  acquaintance,  she  knew 
him  to  be  self-willed,  bold,  froward,  and  an  instructor  of  evil 
things  ;  and  she  was  ready  to  believe  anything  of  him. 
Especially,  she  said,  "  that  a  common  laborer  should  seek  to 
intermarry  in  our  best  families;  that  one  should  stride  from 
the  Saw-mill  to  the  Governor's  house ;  that,  after  rolling 
logs  and  handling  lumber  all  day,  he  should  expect  to  dis- 
pose of  his  fatigue  in  the  evening  on  damask  lounges,  and 
wear  off  his  coarseness  under  silken  curtains,  —  indicated  an 
effrontery  as  dangerous  as  it  was  detestable." 

Why  pursue  details,  when  the  result  announces  itself? 
Miss  Freeling,  with  all  her  eloquence  and  good  sense,  could 
not  arrest  judgment.  Mrs.  Melbourne,  who  had  not  only 
the  summing  up,  but  the  decision,  of  the  case,  said  she  was 
satisfied ;  though  the  full  extent  of  her  satisfaction  she  kept 
for  other  and  more  private  ears. 

Miss  Rowena  remained  a  silent  spectator  of  proceedings. 
She  was  not  inclined  to  side  with  Mrs.  Melbourne,  but  she 
saw  no  loop-hole  of  extrication  for  Richard.  At  the  close 
of  the  meeting,  she  drew  a  long  breath  of  mingled  surprise 
and  disappointment,  anguish  and  sorrow,  and  went  home. 

This  may  seem  a  tempest  in  a  tea-pot  to  some ;  but  it  was 
a  very  large  tea-pot,  and  one  that  held  water  enough  to 
scald  a  good  deal  of  happiness.  If  considerable  events 
sprung  from  small  causes,  the  instance  is  not  unparalleled. 


i 


THE  governor's  FAMILY.  363 

A  silver  medal  involved  the  Dutch  in  a  long  conflict  with 
Louis  XIV.  The  true  motive  of  the  affair  under  review- 
may  not  have  been  apprehended  by  the  majority  of  those  con- 
cerned in  it ;  so  Mr.  Alison  says  the  real  object  of  a  war  is 
never  understood  by  the  people,  who  are  expected  to  fight 
its  battles,  and  not  trouble  themselves  as  to  its  meaning. 

Mrs.  Melbourne  looked  only  on  one  side  of  a  subject,  and 
when  that  happened  to  be  a  dark  side,  she  looked  a  long 
while,  —  so  long,  in 'fact,  she  saw  nothing  else.  Where,  iia 
all  this  matter,  were  Richard's  obvious  excellences  ?  where 
his  piety,  his  benevolence,  his  heroism  ?  where  his  straight- 
forward consistency,  and  his  transparent  probity  of  charac- 
ter? She  saw  nothing  of  these.  This  was  her  position : 
she  attributed  the  virtues  of  Richard  to  ambition,  and  his 
vices  to  intention.  A  feeling  lurked  in  her  heart,  withal, 
which  Mrs.  Mellow  more  broadly  hinted,  that  one  of  Rich- 
ard's birth,  connections,  and  calling,  was  ill-adapted  for  an 
inmate  in  the  Governor's  Family.  More  than  this,  but  in 
connection  with  it,  the  different  classes  of  society  in  the  city 
did  not  understand  each  other.  Between  what  Miss  Free- 
ling  called  the  Pickle-eaters  and  the  Gum-chewers,  there 
were  strange  mistakes.  The  Cashmere  shawls  mistrusted 
what  might  lie  under  a  Scotch  plaid.  In  plain  terms,  the 
Governor's  Family  did  not  perfectly  understand  Richard ; 
certainly  the  Mrs.  Melbournism  of  the  Family  did  not. 

It  will  be  remembered,  moreover,  that  the  .evidence  elic- 
ited at  Whichcomb's  was  not  primary,  but  secondary ;  not 
essential,  but  tributary;  and,  coming  as  it  did  on  the  heel 
of  Miss  Eyre's  more  private  communications,  and  in  the 
way  of  incidental  circumstance,  which  some  are  so  profound 
as  to  tell  us  never  lies,  and  confirming  in  all  poinrs  what 
had  been  directly  asserted,  it  led  to  an  overwhelming  verdict 
against  Richard. 


364  RICHARD   EDNEY    AND 

Eoxy  reported  proceedings  at  Willow  Croft;  but  Richard,  I 
as  if  he  had  foreseen  the  course  of  things,  manifested  no  i 
alarm.  He  had  been  so  diligently  racked,  an  additional 
turn  of  the  screw  could  not  aggravate  his  distress.  If  he 
had  any  lingering  hopes  of  a  favorable  turn  of  affairs,  or 
plausible  scheme  for  recovering  the  ground  he  had  lost, 
these  were  finally  blasted.  The  little  radicles  of  a  tree 
adhere  tenaciously  to  the  bank  in  which  they  have  been 
nourished,  after  the  rising  flood  has  mastered  the  branches 
and  trunk,  and  even  undermined  the  main  body  of  the  root 
itself;  so  the  tenderness  of  nature  cleaves  to  objects  in 
which  it  has  had  delight,  when  all  energy  and  resolution 
have  given  out ;  but  this  fond  hold  of  sentiment  and  feeling 
in  Richard  broke  at  last. 

There  were  some  sad  hours  at  Willow  Croft.  The  house 
was  shaded,  at  times,  so  etTectually,  the  want  of  window- 
blinds  and  overhanging  trees  would  not  have  been  felt. 
While  the  matter  was  in  some  respects  too  deep  for  the 
penetration,  or  rather  for  the  business,  of  Munk,  it  was  too 
serious  for  him  to  trifle  with  ;  and  at  the  same  time,  like  the 
effect  of  telling  pleasant  stories  to  a  sick  child,  and  making  it 
smile,  he  could  not  forbear  those  feathery  sallies  and  sunny 
quips  in  which  he  so  much  abounded.  The  change  in 
Roxy,  so  noble  and  so  visible,  gave  her  husband  almost  as 
much  delight  as  the  sorrow  of  Richard  did  pain;  and 
especially  as  that  change  employed  itself  upon  the  sorrow, 
and  was  an  alleviation  of  it,  and  a  visit  of  queenliness  unto 
it ;  and  as  it  rejoiced  Richard  so,  and  made  him  sometimes 
almost  forget  his  sorrow,  and  made  his  sorrow  seem  so  like 
a  dark  night  full  of  glow-worms,  Munk  could  not  but  keep 
some  of  his  old  flow  of  spirits. 

"  I  have  just  read,  in  the  evening  paper, "  said  he, 
knocking  his  pipe  on  the  palm  of  his  left  hand,  "  that  '  Mr    , 


THE    G0\T;RN0R  S   FABriLY,  3b& 

Brunei  acknowledged  he  had  taken  his  first  lessons  for 
forming  the  great  Thames  Tunnel  from  the  ship-worm, 
whose  motions  he  observed  as  it  perforated  the  wood,  arch- 
ing its  way  onwards,  and  varnishing  the  roof  of  the  passage 
with  its  secretions.'  The  evil  is  big  enough,  —  it  is  like  a 
mountain  ;  and  we  are  worms,  —  but  perhaps  we  shall  get 
through  it  at  some  rate.  Queen  Victoria  has  some  hard 
times, — how  she  is  going  to  tunnel  that  great  English 
nation,  so  things  will  run  smooth  and  easy,  I  don't  see; 
but  let  us  be  good  and  happy,  and  happy  and  good."  He 
had  refilled  his  pipe,  and  uttered  these  last  words  simulta- 
neously with  putting  it  in  his  mouth,  and  holding  a  Lucifer 
match  over  the  bowl  to  light  it. 

Richard  would  try  to  be  good,  but  he  found  it  hard  to  be 
happy.  That  a  sense  of  innocence  will  always  insure 
repose  of  spirit,  —  that,  if  the  conscience  be  clear,  the  heart 
will  be  light,  —  is  rather  a  dogma  of  fancy  than  a  conclusion 
of  fact.  Those  nations  that  employed  the  rack  understood 
human  nature  better  than  this ;  they  knew  that,  as  com- 
pression of  the  waist  drives  the  blood  into  the  face,  inno- 
cence was  susceptible  of  the  strictures  of  pain  to  an  extent 
that  blushes  with  apparent  guilt ;  and  demonstrated  that 
through  exquisiteness  of  agony,  the  most  virtuous  man 
in  the  world  would  confess  himself  the  most  criminal  and 
reprobate,  —  in  a  word,  that  our  nature  can  be  implicated  in 
baseness,  by  tempting  it  with  sorrow. 

Sometimes  Richard  gasped  from  a  certain  internal  hollow 

of  pain ;  sometimes  cold  prickles  ran  over  him   from  head 

to    foot,   as   if  one  were  leisurely  sprinkling  him  with   a 

water-pot  full  of  fleas  and  frost;  sometimes  he  played  with 

the  childran,  but  languidly,  as  an  invalid  takes  a  ride,  and 

not  so  much  entering  into  the  pleasure  of  the  thing,  as  that 

the  pleasure  of  the  thing  may  enter  into  him ;  sometimes  he 
31# 


366  HICHARD    EDNEV,    ETC. 

fell  heavily  on  }iis  bed.  —  sometimes  he  paced  energetically 
his  chamber;  now  he  would  be  all  strung  up,  and  clenched, 
and  wirj',  —  again  he  was  flaccid,  limpsy,  dissoluble  as  water. 
He  did  not  shed  many  tears,  but  there  was  a  sort  of  burning 
aridness,  combined  with  a  swollen  tightness,  back  of  his 
eyes;  at  one  time,  he  read  all  the  papers,  —  at  another,  he 
devoted  his  leisure  to  looking  from  the  window. 

Roxy  was  good  to  him,  —  very  good.  She  made  him  the 
best  cup  of  tea,  boiled  his  potatoes  in  the  mealiest  wa}', 
lightened  up  the  bread  till  it  lay  in  slices  on  the  plate  like 
tiers  of  new  honeycomb  from  the  Patent  boxes.  But  oh, 
she  had  to  be  so  considerate!  If  she  could  have  asked  him 
how  he  did,  instead  of  complimenting  the  morning  to  him ; 
if  she  could  have  looked  at  his  tongue,  instead  of  half 
ignoring  his  presence  ;  if  she  could  have  asked  him  what 
she  should  do  for  him,  instead  of  having  to  try  to  do  so 
much ;  if  she  could  liaA-e  just  inquired  if  he  would  have 
some  arrow-root,  or  green  peas  without  butter,  or  a  rasher 
of  pork  ;  if  she  could  have  had  the  privilege  of  keeping  the 
children  still,  instead  of  feeling  obliged  to  urge  them  to 
entertain  their  Uncle ;  if  she  could  have  driven  off"  the  man 
with  the  hand-organ  and  the  monkey,  instead  of  tempting 
him  with  a  few  cents  to  the  gate,  to  grind  his  organ, 
and  make  his  monkey  dance ;  —  then  it  would  seem  to  be 
better. 

But  there  was  Richard's  Motto ;  sometimes  it  seemed  to 
fly  out  of  the  wall,  like  a  wasp,  and  sting  him  in  the  face 
when  he  looked  at  it. 


CHAPTER    XXXV. 


INTROSPECTIVE. 


He  must  adjust  himself  to  what  was  about  him.  He 
must  ascertain  the  extent  of  his  obligations  and  deficits,  and 
square  accounts  with  existence.  He  had  relations  to  man- 
kind that  involved  a  personal  attention,  —  offices  to  fill  or 
resign,  —  scenes  to  be  visited  or  abandoned. 

"  What  will  God  have  me  to  do  ? "  he  asked.  "  My 
character  is  questioned,  and  my  influence  neutralized ;  my 
pretensions  will  be  derided,  and  my  efforts  opposed." 

He  was  teacher  in  the  same  Sunday-school  with  Melicent 
and  Barbara,  one  of  whom  had  a  class  in  the  vestry, 
directly  fronting  him.  One  Sabbath  he  was  at  his  post ; 
but  he  imagined  he  could  not  repeat  the  endeavor.  It  was 
not  so  much  a  cross  which  he  would  heroically  bear,  as  an 
execution  that  it  were  wise  to.  dispense  with.  He  told  his 
class,  with  some  emotion,  he  should  instruct  them  no  more, 
but  that  he  should  be  happy  to  see  them  at  Willow  Croft. 
The  children  opened  their  innocent  eyes  with  quite  a  burst 
of  wonderment,  for  they  were  attached  to  their  teacher  and 
ignorant  of  events  ;  but  he  quietly  sat  down  and  turned  his 
back  to  them. 

He  had  passed  some  of  his  happiest  and  most  useful 
hours  in  the  cause  of  Knuckle  Lane,  and  at  the  Griped 
Hand.  This  was  an  interest  that  he  loved,  and  a  privilege 
that  he  prized.  Shall  he  attend  these  meetings  no  more  ? 
Shall  he  maintain  the  "Be  Good,"  but  the  "Do  Good" 
become  no  other  than  a  lost  dream  of  his  youth,  —  a  ruined 


368  BICHARD   EDNEY   AND 

attainment  of  his  piety  ?  But  how  persevere  in  duties  that 
brought  him  into  so  scandalized  a  juxtaposition  ?  —  how, 
with  such  a  load  on  his  heart ;  —  how,  with  so  much  shame 
in  his  apprehensions ;  —  how,  with  a  sort  of  aha  !  aha  !  pur- 
suing him  down  the  street  ? 

The  Hebrew  Scribes  used  to  write  in  the  margin  of  the 
Bible  words  that  were  to  be  pronounced  in  room  of  offensive 
ones  in  the  text,  which  they  dared  not  alter.  Richard  seemed 
to  have  the  feeling  that  he  was  an  offensive  word  in  the 
sacred  text  of  those  movements  in  which  he  had  been  en- 
gaged,—  movements  that  he  reverenced  and  loved,  —  and 
that  he  ought  to  betake  himself  to  the  margin. 

Richard  had  friends,  —  friends  for  adversity,  —  who  ad- 
hered to  him  whatever  might  befall.  Some  of  his  Knuckle 
Lane  associates,  believing  in  his  integrity,  not  only  loaned 
him  a  generous  confidence,  but  would  incite  him  to  vindi- 
cate his  position,  and  repossess  himself  of  what  Mrs.  Mel- 
bournism  had  taken  away.  There  were  those  who  did  not 
like  Mrs.  Eyre,  and  were  impatient  at  the  injustice  she 
seemed  guilty  of.  But  nothing  could  dissuade  Richard 
from  letting  those  matters  alone.  "  Come  back  to  '  Knuckle 
Lane,'  "  said  Mangil,  the  Broker.  "  Cornered,  sharp,  hard 
getting  round  ?  Poh  !  poh !  never  heard  of  such  a  thing. 
Banks  refuse  ?  Come  into  the  street ;  call,  —  you  know 
where,  —  21  Exchange.  Never  mind  backers,  — you  have 
a  back  of  your  own  ; "  —  he  struck  him  there  ;  —  "  perhaps 
you  have  forgotten  some  old  deposites ;  if  you  don't  call  for 
them,  why,  they  must  pass  over  to  your  heirs." 

Now,  Richard  made  some  mistakes,  and  one  very  plain 
one.  He  exaggerated  the  consequence  that  attached  to  his 
person  and  action,  and  seemed  to  imagine  there  was  a  pub- 
lic excitement  about  his  affairs.  The  city  appeared  to  him 
one  great  eye ;  and  that  eye,  like  the  sun,  looking  straight 


THE    GOVEKNOk's    FAMILY.  369 

down  upon  him,  and  making  his  shadow  the  measure  of  its 
intensity.  In  fact,  there  were  twenty  thousand  eyes  in  the 
Old  Town  and  the  New  ;  and  it  woukl  be  a  miracle,  indeed, 
if  these  had  all  at  once  become  so  disinterested,  so  curious, 
or  so  crazed,  as,  neglecting  their  own  business,  to  mind 
nothing  else  but  a  lessee  of  Green  Mill.  It  was  as  if  there 
were  no  other  self,  —  no  other  disappointment,  or  anxiety,  or 
sorrow,  —  but  his  ;  as  if  the  people  he  passed  in  the  street,  — 
that  looked  at  him,  indeed,  but  only  to  take  the  right  side 
of  him, — were  not  full  of  bargains  and  speculations,  of 
hurryings  and  fears,  of  burdens  and  woes,  of  light,  love, 
and  hope,  whhout  him;  as  if  the  houses,  that  seemed  to 
stare  on  him  from  their  windows,  were  not  veiled  in  their 
sick  chambers,  embroiled  in  their  kitchens,  turned  topsy- 
turvy in  their  clearings,  asleep  in  their  luxuriance  or  their 
solitude,  and  cared  nothing  for  him. 

This  turn  of  Richard's  mind  was  not  an  uncommon  one. 
A  chambermaid,  —  I  have  this  out  Jonathan  Swift,  D.  D.,  — 
talking  with  one  of  her  fellow-servants,  said,  "  I  hear  it  is  all 
over  London  that  I  am  going  to  leave  my  lady."  The  same 
Divine  has  other  instances,  which  I  need  not  be  at  pains  to 
repeat.  An  Englishman,  having  written  a  three-penny 
pamphlet  against  France,  hearing  that  a  French  privateer 
had  been  seen  off  the  coast,  fled  to  town,  and  told  his 
friends  "  they  need  not  wonder  at  his  haste,  for  the  French 
King  had  sent  a  privateer  on  purpose  to  catch  him."  In  a 
book-stall,  Mr.  Swift  says  he  took  up  a  volume  entitled 
"  Poems,  by  the  author  of  The  Choice."  "  Poems  "  were 
unendurable  ;  "  But  what,"  asked  the  Dean,  "is  The  Choice, 
or  who  ever  heard  of  its  author  ?  " 

"  This,"  concludes  our  moralist,  "  arises  from  the  great 
importance  which  every  man  supposes  himself  to  be  of." 

Whatever  he  undertook,  Richard  might  feel  it  would  be 


370  EICHAED    EDNEY   AND 

entitled,  "  By  the  author  of  a  Certain  Disturbance  !  "  Yet 
how  many  there  were  in  Woodylin  who  had  never  seen  the 
book,  nor  heard  of  the  disturbance !  How  many  who  had 
only  seen  the  cover  of  the  book,  or  read  its  title  in  a  news- 
paper advertisement ! 

Perhaps  being  deplumed  has  the  same  effect  as  wearing 
feathers,  in  the  fancy  that  one  is  the  observed  of  all  observ- 
ers ;  and  a  sense  of  disgrace  excites  the  reacting  imagina- 
tion like  a  love  of  applause. 

We  have  said  Richard's  heart,  among  other  vagaries,  got 
into  his  eyes  and  ears.  In  that  heart  was  a  variety  of 
things,  —  the  "World,"  the  Church,  the  street, — this  and 
that  man,  this  and  that  circle,  —  many  vague  and  indefinable 
objects,  and  strange  and  wonderful  impressions  of  things; 
and  he  could  hardly  look  up  without  seeing  or  hearing  what 
pertained  to  himself, — even  as  we  should  suppose,  more 
literally,  the  sweet  singer  of  Sweden,  who  has  filled  the 
earth  with  her  melody,  could  hardly  open  her  ears  any- 
where without  hearing  the  echo  of  her  voice,  as  she  cer- 
tainly cannot  open  her  eyes  without  seeing  her  name  in  all 
places  and  on  all  things. 

Yet  herein  he  mistook,  —  I  will  not  say  his  duty,  —  but 
the  fact. 

In  the  city  at  large,  the  Old  Town  especially,  and  among 
the  citizens  outside  of  the  Family  connection,  his  rejection 
by  the  Governor's  daughter  was  a  nine  days'  wonder,  with 
an  evening  or  two  of  commentary,  and  no  more  ;  and  even 
in  that  connection,  except  in  the  detached  and  remote  hours 
of  unreserve  and  reverie,  it  gradually  dropped  from  the 
tongue. 

We  say  Richard  made  a  mistake.  Yet  it  might  have 
been  difficult  for  him  to  be  correct. 

His  great  sorrow  held  up  the  world  to  his  view  as  in  a 


THE    governor's    FAMILY.  371 

kaleidoscope,  which  by  invisible  hands  it  kept  turning  round  ; 
and,  at  each  revolution,  men  and  women,  —  his  fellow- 
beings,  -^  like  the  glass  and  beads  in  the  toy  aforesaid, 
tumbled  into  unexpected  groups,  and  darted  ofT  with  every 
conceivable  expression. 

It  would  be  hard  to  determine  his  precise  footing  with 
such  folks. 

For  the  most  part,  he  left  the  public  walks,  and  attached 
himself  to  the  Saw-mill  and  Willow  Croft. 

He  had  plenty  of  time  for  reflection;  and  among  the 
things  that  self-examination  brought  to  light,  he  thought  he 
espied  a  lurking  ambition.  Had  he  been  too  ambitious  ? 
—  sinfully  so? — or  only  to  the  extent  that  was  natural, 
laudable,  and  Christian?  His  desire  to  do  good,  he  feared, 
had  been  a  desire  to  do  great  good  ;  his  actual  superiority, 
in  feeling  and  comprehension,  to  many  about  him,  seemed 
to  have  been  tinctured  with  conceit ;  his  endeavor  to  rise  in 
the  world,  honorable  and  praiseworthy  as  were  the  means, 
indicated  some  narrowness  of  motive  ;  his  energy  and  per- 
severance, in  every  benevolent  word  and  work,^  were  vitiated 
by  a  regard  to  human  approbation  ;  —  perhaps  he  had  relied 
less  on  God,  and  too  much  on  his  own  activity  of  nature. 
Why  did  he  feel,  at  times,  so  wretchedly,  and  mourn  sore 
like  a  dove  over  his  disappointment?  If  he  were  truly  a 
child  of  God,  and  sanctified  in  soul,  and  imbued  with  res- 
ignation, and  raised  to  the  tranquillity  of  life  in  Jesus,  and 
heir  presumptive  of  eternal  blessedness,  would  he  breathe  so 
heavily  ?  These  questions  he  could  not  revolve  without 
solicitude. 

Was  there  not  a  certain  swelling  up  and  inflation  of  self- 
ish regard  in  the  whole  scheme  of  his  life,  and  filling  a 
space  that  should  be  occupied  solely  by  God  and  duty? 
Was  he  not  more  mortified  at  the  discredit  attached  to  his 


372  RICHARD    EDNEY   AND 

reputation,  than  distressed  for  detriment  accruing  to  the 
cause  of  Christ  ?  Would  he  be  willing  that  the  works  of 
godliness  and  humanitj^  should  go  on,  and  he  himself  have 
no  agency,  or  award,  or  figure  therein  ?  Startling  topics 
these,  that  made  his  conscience  throb,  as  if  its  nerve  had 
been  touched  by  a  dentist's  needle.  It  is  said  that  ants,  in  a 
Church  of  Brazil,  having  bored  through  the  floor,  brought 
up  from  the  vaults  beneath  bits  of  coffins  and  shreds  of 
grave-clothes,  and  displayed  them  to  the  shuddering  eyes 
of  the  worshippers.  A  great  sorrow,  even  in  a  sanctified 
mind,  sinks  to  the  depths  of  one's  being,  and  perforating  the 
vaults  where  follies  and  sins  lie  dead  and  buried,  will  some- 
times surprise  him  with  the  sight  of  remnants  of  things 
abhorred  and  rejected,  and  which  he  supposed  had  perished 
forever. 

"  The  importance  which  ever}'  man  supposes  himself  to  be 
of"  assumed  an  unusual  aspect,  and  dilated  in  extraordinary 
proportions,  in  Richard's  mind,  about  this  time.  He  never 
had  such  a  realization  of  himself  before.  If  he  would  ever 
be  great,  he  never  felt  himself  so  large,  never  experienced 
such  an  exaggerated  consciousness,  as  now.  He  seemed 
aforetime  to  have  lost  sight  of  his  own  existence  and  indi- 
vidualit}^;  and  now  that  existence  and  individuality, —  what- 
ever he  had  done  or  been,  —  all  the  plans  he  had  engaged 
in,  —  all  the  intercourse  he  had  enjoyed,  —  seemed  to  con- 
front him,  and  inflesh  before  his  eyes,  and  well  up  in  his 
heart,  and  to  be  himself,  and  to  double  himself,  and  to  shut 
out  from  his  attention  all  things  but  his  attention.  He  had 
no  idea  of  what  he  had  attained,  until  compelled  to  retreat, 
and  contemplate  his  ground  from  a  distance.  One  measures 
his  height  more  by  his  fall  than  by  his  rise.  The  fall  is 
material    and   perceptible ;    the   rise    is  spiritual,   gradual, 


THE    governor's    FAMILY.  373 

cla\vn-like.  One  falls  with  a  crash,  —  he  goes  up  with  a 
kind  of  buoyancy. 

Sometimes  he  exclaimed,  with  Job,  "  O  that  I  were  as  in 
months  past,  —  as  I  was  in  the  days  of  my  youth  !  "  He 
wished  himself  like  the  boy  David,  a  keeper  of  sheep  again 
in  his  father's  pasture; — he  sighed  for  the  obscurity  and 
silence  of  the  old  forests  where  he  had  cut  timber  and  slept 
on  boughs.  He  wished  that  he  had  never  left  the  station 
of  slip-tender,  under  Captain  Creamer  ;  — he  envied  his  own 
boy,  the  shingle-sticker. 

He  called  to  mind  Cromwell's  lament  in  Shakspeare.  He 
had  read  Shakspeare.  It  was  the  advice  of  Pastor  Harold 
for  young  persons  to  possess  the  great  dramatist,  —  agreea- 
bly, perhaps,  to  what  tradition  reports  of  old  Dr.  Strong,  of 
Hartford,  Ct.,  who  said  he  wanted  but  two  books  in  his 
library  —  the  Bible  and  Shakspeare.  He  pathetically  re- 
peated Othello's  words :  — 

"  Had  it  pleased  Heaven 
To  try  me  with  affliction  ;  had  he  rained 
All  kind  of  sores,  and  shames,  on  my  bare  head ; 
Steeped  me  in  poverty  to  the  very  lips  ;  — 
*        *        *        But  (alas  !)  to  make  me 
A  fixed  figure  for  the  lime  of  scorn 
To  point  his  slow,  unmoving  finger  at, — 
O!  O!" 

This  "  0  !  0  !  "  came  to  be  quite  familiar  to  Richard.  It 
was  all  that  remained  to  him  in  the  way  of  expression.  It 
was  as  a  letting  off  of  steam.  Eructation  is  useful  in  dis- 
burthening  the  heart.  The  whole  course  of  his  days  seemed 
to  have  suddenly  struck  into  a  funeral  procession,  and  the 
noise  of  the  world  to  be  a  beat  of  the  muffled  drum,  and  he 
himself  to  be  keeping  slow  and  measured  tread,  as  he  moved 
downwards  to  obscurity  and  silence. 

Yet  Richard  recollected  duty,  and  strove  to  carry  forward 
32 


374  EICHARD    EDNEY   AND 

the  intention,  if  he  was  obliged  to  deviate  from  the  method, 
of  his  former  goodness. 

He  went  occasionally  to  Elder  Jabson's  evening  meetings, 
in  the  neighborhood  of  Willow  Croft.  The  Elder  was  kind 
and  attentive  to  Richard,  and,  waiving  reproachful  consider- 
ations, treated  him  as  a  friend  and  brother.  At  this  time 
the  doctrine  of  the  Second  Advent  was  being  discussed  in 
the  Elder's  parish,  and  it  agitated  the  meetings.  The  good 
Minister  himself  was  not  free  of  doubt.  Some  of  his  flock 
were  selling  out,  in  anticipation  of  the  great  event.  Richard 
spoke  on  the  subject  with  some  warmth,  and  not  a  little 
judgment.  He  explained  that  the  anticipated  Coming  of 
our  Lord,  so  far  as  concerned  this  world,  was  a  spiritual  phe- 
nomenon ;  —  that  it  was  to  be  realized  in  the  heart  and  life, 
and  to  be  fulfilled  in  the  amelioration  of  society  and  pro- 
gress of  the  race.  The  fire,  said  he,  is  that  which  consumes 
iniquity.  The  cloud-gloiy  is  the  beauty  of  holiness.  The 
light  is  the  radiance  of  universal  love.  The  new  heavens 
are  what  we  may  have  in  our  families,  our  towns,  our  na- 
tion. The  idea  of  atmospheric  convulsions  and  geological 
ruin,  he  said,  originated  in  error  and  superstition ;  and  he 
explained  how,  in  every  age  and  in  various  places,  it  had 
been  productive  of  terrible  evils  and  unspeakable  wretched- 
ness. He  must  have  been  indebted  for  some  of  his  facts 
to  Pastor  Harold.  Then  he  expatiated  with  fert'or,  and 
almost  a  Pythian  boldness,  on  the  power,  solemnity  and 
grandeur,  of  the  real  coming  of  Jesus. 

The  Elder  was  pleased,  and  most  of  the  congregation 
acquiesced.  "  I  have  felt  under  trial,"  said  the  former, 
"  like  a  cart  pressed  under  sheaves.  I  have  sometimes 
thought,  in  this  matter,  we  had  run,  before  we  were  sent ; 
but  I  have  peace  in  my  soul  to-night,  —  I  might  say  a 
shouting,  peace.     We  shall  have  cause  to  thank  God  in  the 


THE    GOVEBNOR's    FAMILY.  375 

day  of  eternity  for  Brother  Edney's  word.  I  believe  he 
spake  as  he  was  moved  by  the  Holy  Ghost.  Let  us  rejoice 
that  we  are  not  in  hell,  but  still  on  praying  ground  !  " 

Richard  felt  refreshed,  that  night,  by  the  vision  of  Jesus 
that  had  been  kindled  in  his  imagination.  He  compared  his 
feelings  when  he  got  home  with  the  thought  he  had  at  the 
meeting.  He  was  sensible  of  a  harmony  between  the  two, 
—  that  he  had  uttered  not  merely  what  he  knew,  or  what 
the  occasion  momentarily  suggested,  but  what  was  profound 
in  his  convictions,  bedded  in  his  nature,  and  what,  after  all, 
seemed  an  indestructible  tendency  and  appetency  of  his 
spirit.  He  was  glad  to  have  those  old  and  beloved  sensa- 
tions revive  ;  —  it  was  a  coming  up  from  the  darkness  that 
covered  them  of  sentiments  and  principles  that  he  believed 
were  eternal  within  him.  The  image  of  the  coming  king- 
dom of  his  Lord  had  a  brightness  and  majesty  that  con- 
trasted his  situation  indeed,  but  not  his  purposes ;  and  if  it 
discouraged  certain  forms  of  overt  action,  it  animated  all 
the  more  the  interior  sphere  of  his  piety. 

In  the  parlor,  with  Roxy  and  Munk,  before  retiring,  he 
sang  the  hymn  that  begins,  "  I  love  thy  kingdom,  Lord." 
At  these  words,  — 

"  If  e'er  my  heart  forget 
Her  welfare  or  her  woe, 
Let  every  joy  this  heart  forsake, 
And  every  grief  o'erflow,"  — 

they  were  all  touched.  Richard  was  a  good  and  sincere 
singer,  and  Roxy  not  only  knew  that  the  pathos  of  his 
voice  truly  interpreted  the  condition  of  his  soul,  but  she  felt 
how  with  a  certain  choking  resoluteness  of  heart,  and  sol- 
emn, painful  heroism  of  intent,  he  sang. 

The  next  day,  obedient  to  the  feeling  of  the  night  before, 
he  purchased  a  small  golden  cross,  which  he  lodged  care- 


376  RICHARD    EDNEY,    ETC. 

fully  within  his  vest,  and  wore  over  his  heart.  Every  night 
he  hung  it  up  directly  under  his  Motto. 

Richard  would  still  do  good ;  n-or  was  he  without  oppor- 
tunity. Outside  of  the  large  and  tempting  field  where  he 
had  so  long  labored,  and  from  which  he  imagined  himself  in 
a  sense  banished,  in  the  "margin"  of  things  where  he  lived, 
he  found  enclosures,  or  rather  wastes,  that  demanded  Chris- 
tian attention,  and  appealed  to  Christian  fidelity.  At  Bill 
Storiners'  Point,  collecting  his  pupils  from  the  neighboring 
forest,  from  the  docks,  and  Islands,  including  Chuk,  and  two 
or  three  mill-boys  and  river-drivers,  he  formed  a  sort  of 
Ragged  School ;  and  Sunday  evening  he  had  a  small  con- 
gregation of  what  are  sometimes  denominated  the  Great 
Unwashed ;  and  Miss  Freeling  would  call  the  Bare  Feet. 
These  had  to  be  instructed,  not  only  in  the  first  principles  of 
the  doctrine  of  Christ,  but  in  rudiments  of  behavior  and 
decency,  and  the  proper  use  of  their  mother  tongue  ;  and 
some  must  be  taught  reading  and  spelling.  I  know  not 
whether  it  is  an  honor  to  Chuk,  or  a  reflection  on  the  rest, 
to  say  he  was  at  the  head  of  the  class. 

In  this,  Richard  did  not  forget  the  Griped  Hand  and  the 
Church.  He  loved  and  would  serve  both  ;  and  hoped  that 
he  might  make  of  these  "Wild  Olives,  as  he  called  them, 
plants  that  would  do  to  graft  on  the  domestic  and  civilized 
stock,  and  such  as  might  adorn  and  bless  those  higher 
spheres  to  which  he  hoped  ultimately  to  commit  them. 


CHAPTER     XXXVI 


Mr.  Augustits  Ma:xgil,  the  musical  money-dealer,  —  why 
should  not  such  a  man  be  musical  ?  —  approached  Richard, 
as  he  was  "  shutting  down  "  the  Mill,  one  day,  in  his  lively 
way ;  his  little  eyes  pleasantly  snapping,  his  left  finger 
playing  about  his  ear,  and  his  right  knee  crooking  rather 
antic-like.  "An  investment,"  said  he.  "A  little  down, 
but  a  good  deal  up.  In  plain  words,"  he  continued,  "  I  have 
embarked  in  hens.  Not  deep,  but  high,  —  high,  I  call  it  ; 
so  ; "  —  he  marked  an  altitude  with  his  hand  in  the  air. 
"  Flour-barrel  high  ;  —  full-blood  Shanghae  ;  —  eight  dollars 
a  pair  ;  —  feathered  to  the  heel ;  —  an  egg  a  day,  and  ask  no 
questions.  I  want  a  place  to  put  them.  If  you  will  fur- 
nish that,  it  shall  be  joint-stock.  At  Willow  Croft  is  just 
the  spot,  and  your  folks,  women  and  children,  are  just  the 
men.     "We  shall  want  a  few  boards  and  laths." 

They  walked  oa  together  towards  Willow  Croft.  En- 
countering Munk,  the  Broker's  scheme  was  opened  to  him. 
Richard  was  ready,  and  Munk  consented.  The  children 
were  delighted,  and  Roxy  was  to  have  plenty  of  fresh  eggs. 

They  selected  a  place  at  the  foot  of  the  lot,  Richard 
ordered  up  the  lumber,  and  Mangil  superintended  the  struc- 
ture. In  a  few  days  they  had  a  "  house  "  well  appointed, 
and  three  or  four  families  of  the  most  notable  Asiatic  fowls. 

Every  morning  one  of  the  "  Wild  Olive  "  boys  brought  a 
box  of  what  was  termed  fresh  meat  for  chickens,  —  beetles, 
32* 


37S  RICHARD    EDNEY,    ETC. 

spiders,  worms ;  and  there  was  such  a  time  feeding  the 
family,  and  Memmy  and  Bebby  did  busk  and  pudder  so, 
we  cannot  tell  it  all.  There  were  eggs,  and  there  were 
chickens ;  —  the  marvel !  Munk  liked  to  eat  eggs ;  Roxy  liked 
to  cook  eggs ;  Memmy  liked  to  bring  them  in  in  a  basket ; 
and  Bebby  liked  to  hold  one  in  her  hand,  — just  once,  — just 
a  little,  —  so  softly,  —  so  shrinkingly  ;  and  Richard  and 
the  Broker  liked  to  count  the  profits.  There  were  so  many 
questions,  withal,  about  lime,  sand,  water,  oats,  barley,  and 
what  not;  and  how  to  prevent  a  hen  setting  when  she  was 
a  mind  to,  and  how  to  make  her  set  when  she  was  not  a 
mind  to ;  and  which  was  best,  one  large  egg,  or  two  small 
ones  ;  and  about  the  value  of  the  different  importations ; 
and  there  were  so  many  persons  to  see  the  hennery,  and  so 
many  inquiries  to  be  answered,  and  so  many  suggestions  to 
be  considered,  and  so  many  wipes  to  be  parried  ;  —  it  was 
altogether  exciting  business ;  and  it  was  just  the  sort  of 
excitement  that  Richard  needed. 

Did  Mangil  know  this  ?  Ah  I  there  is  a  question.  Roxy 
said  he  did  ;  and  that  this  was  a  trick  of  his.  INIangil  had 
his  way,  the  same  as  Climper  had,  and  the  rest  of  mankind 
have. 


CHAPTER    XXXVII. 

INCIDENTS. 

We  were  about  to  commence  this  chapter  with  the  word 
"  Our  readers."  But  while  adjusting  the  nib  of  our  pen  on 
our  thumb-nail ;  —  the  prongs  having  crossed  their  arms,  — 
tired  and  sleepy,  we  suppose,  —  it  was  late  at  night ;  —  that 
word,  sleepy  too,  impatient  and  fretful,  began  to  mutter. 
"  Readers  !  what  does  he  know  about  readers  ?  His  read- 
ers ;  I  should  wonder !  "  it  seemed  to  say.  This  made  us 
curl  a  little,  and  while  we  were  meditating  some  stifling 
rejoinder  to  this  impertinence,  the  solar  lamp  suddenly  gave 
out.  There  was  no  help  for  that,  and  we  sank  back  resign- 
edly in  the  rocking-chair,  and  fell  into  a  doze.  It  may  be 
added,  that  we  had  been  engaged,  the  day  before,  reading  a 
work  entitled  "  The  true  history  of  the  earth  and  its 
INHABITANTS  ;  sJioiving  the  analogy  between  man  and  brute, 
and  deducing  the  human  race  from  Jive  varieties  of  the 
oyster,  recently  discovered  in  a  fossil  state  under  the  Frejich 
Academy  ;"  a  suggestive  volume,  with  plates  of  sections  and 
atoms  of  shells  as  microscopically  developed,  in  which, 
among  other  things,  are  seen  human  forms  in  embryo,  lobes 
of  the  heart,  brain-shaped  configurations,  finger-nails ;  the 
chit  of  an  idea,  and  a  veiy  perfect  approximation  to  a  Gothic 
church. 

While  sleeping,  we  seemed  to  be  standing  on  a  plain, 
where  were  many  animals,  and  a  number  of  books ;  and  in 
the  distance  stood  anxious-looking  umbrae  of  authors.  First 
advanced  the  lion,  and.with  a  slight  flourish  of  the  tail,  he 


380  RICHARD    EDNEY    AND 

devoured  fifteen  of  the  newest  books ;  a  dream-allusion,  I 
suppose,  to  a  habit  this  animal  possesses  of  taking  fifteen 
pounds  of  raw  flesh  at  a  meal.  Then  came  a  kangaroo,  who, 
lifting  the  lid  of  a  book,  instantly  leaped  from  the  imprima- 
tur to  the  colophon,  and  proceeded  in  this  way  from  volume 
to  volume,  as  it  were  playing  leap-frog  among  them.  A 
chamois  goat  would  open  a  book,  and  if  he  found  crags  and 
chasms  in  it,  he  gambolled  amongst  them,  and  seemed  to  be 
uneasy  at  a  level  spot.  A  book  was  seen  sinking  in  a  pond 
of  water;  instantly,  at  the  beck  of  an  author,  a  Newfound- 
land dog  swam  for  it,  and  bore  it  safe  to  the  shore.  Mar- 
mots appeared  burrowing  in  books,  and  making  a  home  for 
themselves  in  the  middle  of  the  pile.  A  squirrel  sat  on  the 
cover  of  one,  with  a  nut  in  its  mouth,  A  flock  of  crows 
alighted  on  the  spot.  The  authors  trembled ;  they  seized 
the  forlorn  shade  of  one  of  their  number,  and  set  it  on  a 
pole  for  a  scare-crow.  Chimney-swallows  flitted  among  the 
books,  in  pursuit  of  dark  and  smirchy  places,  where  they 
could  build  their  nests.  An  anaconda  glided  through  the 
grass,  and  having  first  smoothed  and  polished  the  volume  of 
his  choice  with  a  sort  of  mucilage,  proceeded  to  swallow  it. 
Then  he  fell  into  a  swollen  torpor,  with  the  corners  of  the 
book  protruding  from  his  mouth.  A  rhinoceros  came  up 
from  a  muddy  creek,  having  a  terrible  horn  on  his  nose, 
which  he  turned  every  way ;  —  the  timid  umbrae  fled.  The 
creature,  approaching  the  books,  gored  some  and  tossed 
others.  Looking  in  the  direction  where  we  were  standing, 
he  seemed  to  be  aiming  his  horn  at  our  shadowy  self;  —  in 
exceeding  terror  we  awoke. 

This  dream,  mixed  and  incongruous  indeed,  as  all  dreams 
are,  and  the  History  above  mentioned,  set  us  upon  reflection. 
Is  there  not,  we  asked,  an  analogy  between  certain  zoologi- 
cal species  and  the  readers  of  books  ?    The  law  of  analogy 


THE    governor's    FAMILY.  381 

would  seem  indeed  to  be  imperfectly  developed  ;  and  yet  its 
accredited  results  are  striking.  For  instance,  Ulrici  dis- 
covers in  the  plays  of  Shakspeare  a  compend  of  all  the 
points  of  Calvinism.  Gardiner  classifies  musical  instru- 
ments after  the  colors  of  the  prism.  Even  in  the  Bible,  we 
find  David  comparing  himself  in  trouble  to  a  bottle  in  the 
smoke.  Should  we  transcend  the  proprieties  of  the  case,  if, 
in  a  matter  of  mere  speculation,  we  discriminated  readers 
of  books  by  the  marks  of  certain  faunae  ?  In  fact,  is  not 
this  agreeable  to  the  whole  method  of  analogical  and  deriv- 
ative science  ? 

There  is,  then,  the  leopard.  It  is  related  this  animal  may 
be  taken  in  a  trap  with  a  mirror  at  the  bottom.  Let  an 
author  bait  his  book  with  a  looking-glass;  this  reader, 
discerning  in  his  own  image  what  he  supposes  is  a  monster 
that  he  is  in  duty  bound  to  devour,  pitches  in  headlong,  and 
may  be  easily  taken.  The  Newfoundland  dog,  we  should 
imagine,  would  be  a  favorite  of  all  authors.  The  cat  is  the 
delight  of  most  persons  ;  yet,  if  you  chance  to  tread  on  the 
tail  of  one  that  has  been  a  pet  for  years,  the  creature  will 
turn  on  you  teeth  and  claws.  The  giraffe  goes  through  the 
forest  of  an  author's  thoughts,  and  plucks  off  the  sweet  buds 
and  tender  leaves  from  the  tops  of  the  trees  ;  at  the  same 
time,  with  dirty  hoof,  he  tramples  the  pretty  stars-of-Bethle- 
hem,  and  useful  checkerberries,  that  grow  beneath.  Rather 
to  be  avoided,  we  should  suppose.  The  hippopotamus  sinks 
into  a  book,  like  water,  and  can  be  seen  walking  at  his  ease 
on  the  bottom.  He  is  obliged  to  rise  to  the  surface  to  take 
breath.  The  musk-deer  reader  is  graceful  and  engaging; 
has  beautiful  dark  eyes,  with  a  voice  like  a  sigh ;  but  is  said 
to  be  indolent.  Wild  turkeys,  before  proceeding,  assemble 
on  an  eminence,  and  remain  in  consultation  one  or  two  days. 
At  length  the  leader  gives  the  signal  note,  and  taking  a  par- 


3e2  RICHARD  EDNEY   AND 

ticular  direction,  is  followed  by  the  rest. —  Common  in  Amer- 
ica. It  is  justly  observed,  that  the  sagacity  which  enables 
the  domestic  cock  with  such  precision  to  announce  the  hour 
of  dawn,  is  matter  of  astonishment.  One  is  sufficient.  — 
The  bob-o-link  is  remarkable  for  changing  his  name,  note, 
and  color,  as  he  goes  from  the  North  to  the  South.  How 
fortunate  is  that  author  whose  friends  are  the  mocking- 
birds !  Would  somebody  present  us  a  cage  of  canaries, 
to  hang  in  the  bay-window  of  our  study,  and  sing  betimes 
to  our  melancholy,  and  answer  when  we  whistle,  we 
should  deem  ourselves  happy.  At  rare  and  angelic  inter- 
vals, —  a  shuttle-like  iridescence,  a  feathery  pause  in  the 
stillness  of  things, — a  little  humming-bird  has  been  seen 
gliding  about  our  verandah,  and  tasting  with  nicest  relish 
the  honeysuckles  whose  nee  tared  goblets  hang  out  all 
day  long  on  the  pillars.  If  we  were  to  name  a  reader 
to  be  -chiefly  recommended,  we  should  find  the  type  in 
those  very  common  objects,  cows.  They  begin  at  the  bars, 
the  title-page,  and  graze  to  the  end  of  the  pasture,  and 
regraze ;  they  drink  at  the  murmuring  brooks,  the  pleasant 
fancies  of  an  author,  —  repose  under  the  shade  of  the  great 
trees,  and  ruminate ;  they  afford  to  the  public  tasteful  and 
useful  results  of  their  labor.  The  swan  offers  points  of 
interest.  To  see  this  graceful  creature,  with  arched  neck 
and  half-displayed  pinions,  sailing  over  the  serene  surface  of 
a  great  idea,  which  reflects,  as  she  passes,  the  sno-wy  beauty 
of  her  dress,  flatters  an  author's  vanity.  The  most  terrible 
of  all  American  snakes  is  the  copper-head.  An  author 
need  not  be  afraid  of  toads.  They  are  useful  about  one's 
grounds.  They  feed  on  insects,  and  are  good  against 
vermin.  There  is  a  vulgar  notion  concerning  this  creature, 
it  being  supposed,  from  the  great  numbers  that  appear  after 
a  rain,  they  descend  with  the  shower.     This  may  be  true. 


THE    governor's    FAMILY.  383 

The  great  lantern-fly  is  remarkable  for  the  light  that 
emanates  from  its  head,  —  a  light  by  which  it  usually  reads. 

These  are  some  of  the  kinds  of  readers  distinguished  in  the 
manner  above  mentioned.  They  are  such  as  an  author  will 
meet  with  ;  —  many  of  them  he  will  be  happy  to  see  ;  others 
he  will  do  well  to  shun.  At  first  blush  there  is  something 
dismal  in  a  writer's  prospect.  Quite  large  portions  of  his 
world  seem  to  consist  of  jungle  overrun  with  rapacious 
beasts  and  reptiles,  or  of  swamps  crowded  by  venomous 
insects.  But  these  must  all  live.  Dr.  Good  tells  us.  More- 
over, we  may  remember  that  insects  are  useful  in  disin- 
tegrating the  soil,  and  rendering  it  light,  loamy,  and  fertile. 
There  is,  it  may  be  added,  in  the  East,  a  tribe  of  barbarians 
who  handle  the  most  venomous  reptiles  with  impunity,  and 
eat  them  alive,  from  head  to  tail.  Celsus  and  Lucan  make 
mention  of  them,  and  they  were  called  by  the  ancients, 
Psylli.  A  club  of  authors  might  import  a  few.  Besides, 
Dr.  Bell  contends  that  there  is  no  real  ferocity  in  the  lion, 
for  instance ;  that  his  glare  is  merely  excited  attention,  and 
his  grin  or  snarl  the  natural  motion  of  uncasing  his  fangs 
before  using  them.  How  many  of  the  feras,  withal,  can  be 
tamed !  In  fishes  the  sense  of  smell  is  so  acute,  that  if  an 
author  will  rub  his  hand  with  extract  of  rose,  or  even  leaves 
of  marjoram,  and  dip  it  into  the  water,  he  can  draw  any 
quantity  of  these  creatures  into  it.  Good  Pierre,  before 
quoted,  declares,  and  supports  his  opinion  by  striking  testi- 
mony, that  wild  beasts  will  fly  a  naked  man ;  whence  I 
infer  that  an  author  would  do  well  to  present  his  thoughts 
simply,  directly,  as  it  were  naturally,  and  not  rely  upon  con- 
ventional adaptation,  or  academical  canons. 

And  we  are  reminded,  in  this  connection,  nor  can  we  for- 
bear to  mention,  what  a  fine  race  of  readers  used  to  exist,  — 
the  Lectores  of  scholastic  days.     "  Candidus,"  "  ingenuus," 


384  RICHARD    EDNEY   AND 

"  benevolens,"  "  vigilans,"  were  universal  traits.     Has  that 
race  become  extinct  ? 

We  digress.  We  were  about  to  say,  our  readers  would 
remember  —  something.  —  Yet,  after  all,  does  not  this 
imply  considerable  ?  First,  that  we  have  readers  ;  secondly, 
that  they  have  read  the  book ;  and  thirdly,  that  they  have 
attended  to  what  they  read.  Can  one  imply  so  much, 
without  a  latent  reference  to  other  things,  —  say,  to  this 
whole  matter  of  the  different  sorts  of  readers,  that  we 
have  so  pleasantly  discussed  ?  Nor  can  it  be  a  thing  of 
small  personal  moment  for  any  author  to  know  what  sort  of 
readers  he  shall  be.  surrounded  by,  —  whether  by  swans  or 
anacondas,  nightingales  or  cougars.  If  the  reader  of  these 
pages  has  any  of  the  properties  of  the  domestic  cat,  for 
example,  we  can  rely  upon  him,  and  while  he  honors  us 
with  his  confidence,  and  has  a  place  by  our  fireside,  we  will 
be  cautious  how  we  tread ;  for  this  creature  inspects  every 
portion  of  a  new  house  before  she  makes  up  her  mind  about 
it.  So  our  reader  will  have  gone  over  that  passage,  and  a 
short  one  it  is,  in  Chapter  V.,  where  allusion  is  made  to  cer- 
tain business  transactions  between  the  elder  Edney  and 
Governor  Dennington  ;  and  will  remember  —  it  is  a  trifle  — 
that  the  former  was  under  indentures  to  the  latter  as 
relating  to  his  farm ;  and  that  one  of  Richard's  objects  in 
coming  to  Woodylin  was  to  obtain  means  for  cancelling  this 
contract.  Being  so  fortunate  as  to  have  amassed  the 
requisite  sum,  now,  while  his  sorrow  was  fresh  upon  him, 
he  repaired  to  the  Governor's  office  to  apply  it.  That 
gentleman  received  our  friend  courteously  and  quietly,  as 
was  his  custom  ;  greeted  him  with  a  cordial  "  good-morn- 
ing ;"  shook  hands  with  him ;  shoved  a  chair  towards  him, 
and  had  him  seated  by  his  table ;  alluded  to  the  pleasant- 
ness of  the  weather,  and  inquired   after  his  father.      He 


THE    governor's   FAMILY.  385 

took  from  a  large  file  the  papers  in  question,  computed  the 
interest,  counted  the  money,  and  gave  Richard  a  receipt. 
The  Governor  loved  to  do  business ;  he  did  it  in  the  softest 
and  easiest  way  imaginable.  Perhaps  this  made  him  so 
good-natured  at  the  present  moment. 

Richard  arose  to  leave,  when,  as  if  a  new  thought  had 
struck  him,  taking  a  gold  piece  from  his  pocket,  he  extended 
it  towards  the  Governor,  and,  with  suppressed  emotion,  said, 
"  Sir,  I  received  that,  two  or  three  years  since,  upon  resign- 
ing a  horse,  whose  fright  in  the  street  had  arrested  my 
attention.  I  do  not  wish  to  keep  it."  "  I  recollect,"  said 
the  Governor.  "  My  daughter  Melicent  was  in  the  sleigh. 
It  showed  spirit  and  nerve."  "  I  do  not  wish  to  keep  it," 
reiterated  Richard,  growing  paroxysmal  inside.  "Melicent 
said,"  continued  the  Governor,  unmoved,  but  bland,  "  few 
acts  of  heroism  were  better  carried  through,  or  deserved 
more  honorable  remembrance."  "  Will  you  have  the  kind- 
ness, Sir,"  pursued  Richard,  "  to  receive  back  that  which. 
suggests  nothing  pleasant  to  my  memory?"  The  Governor 
did  not,  or  could  not,  or  would  not,  enter  into  the  spirit  of 
Richard's  tender;  he  merely  replied,  "  It  is  not  mine,  —  it 
is  yours."  He  opened  his  day-book,  and  appeared  to  be 
making  an  entry.  Richard  would  have  thrown  the  gold  into 
the  fireplace,  or  out  of  the  window;  but  the  manner  of  the 
Governor  would  not  allow  this,  and,  finally,  forced  it  back 
into  his  pocket. 

Richard  was  a  little  piqued,  and  a  little  surprised  ;  and  on 
his  way  home  he  could  but  wonder,  partly  at  himself,  and 
partly  at  the  Governor.  It  was  as  if  the  latter  was  wholly 
ignorant  of  all  recent  transactions,  and  the  former  was  sen- 
sible of  nothipg  else  ;  and  this  sensibility,  and  this  ignorance, 
had  a  queer  encounter. 
.  Richard  went  to  the  office  with  any  quantity  of  misgiv- 
33 


386  RICHARD   EDNEY    AND 

ings  and  chokings,  yet  the  Governor  did  not,  in  any  way, 
appear  to  be  cognizant  of,  or  willing  to  revive,  disagreeable 
recollections.  Wherefore  ?  This  puzzled  Richard.  Did 
politeness  conceal  contempt  ?  Was  the  Governor's  aversion, 
like  deep  water,  silent  because  it  was  deep?  Did  business 
keep  in  abeyance  all  paternal  and  moral  sentiments  ?  Yet 
he  alluded  unreservedly  to  his  daughter,  and  pleasantly  to 
the  reminiscences  of  Richard,  who,  on  the  whole,  felt  better 
after  the  interview  than  before. 

From  this  incident  we  are  disposed  to  draw  an  inference 
for  our  readers  Ruminantes.  It  is  said  men  are  governed 
by  their  interests,  —  that  is,  pecuniary  interests.  We 
oppose  the  example  of  Richard,  point-blank,  to  that  theory. 
He  would  gladly  be  rid  of  money.  Nay,  men  are  governed 
by  their  emotions ;  in  other  words,  moral  sentiments. 
Again,  it  is  asserted  that  the  golden  eagle  is  one  of  the 
American  gods;  nay,  furthermore,  Richard  held  in  his  hand 
a  veritable  golden  eagle,  which  he  would  cheerfully  have 
flung  to  the  depths  of  Tartarus;  into  the  face  of  Pluto  him- 
self, if  he  could;  —  a  fact  worthy  of  consideration.  Gold, 
heavy  as  it  is,  will  not  outweigh  a  passion,  be  it  individual, 
—  be  it  national.  This  we  suggest  to  those  of  our  read- 
ers who  do  not  affect  the  golden  eagle,  or  the  fustian 
eagle,  and  yet  are  like  the  mountain  eagle,  in  the  grandeur 
of  their  flight,  intensity  of  their  gaze,  terror  of  their  swoop, 
and  especially  in  the  way  they  pounce  upon  another  of  their 
tribe,  the  fish-hawk,  to  disgorge  him  of  his  prey. 

Another  incident.  As  Richard  was  walking,  towards 
dusk,  turning  the  corner  of  St.  Agnes-street,  he  saw  Mel- 
icent  slowly  approaching  the  gate  of  her  father's  house. 
Here  she  stopped,  and  stood  looking  in  a  direction  opposite 
from  him.  She  was  a  dozen  rods  off".  Above  her  were  the 
branches  of  the  great  elms.    Beyond  was  the  sunset.    She  had 


THE    GOVEKNOr's    FAMILY.  387 

on  the  same  blue  shirred  bonnet,  white  cashmere  shawl  with 
dark  spots,  and  blue  muslin  dress,  —  the  same  that  Richard 
had  seen  before.  Her  hand  reposed  softly  and  gracefully  on 
the  latch  of  the  gate ;  her  parasol  was  dropped,  carelessly 
upturned,  on  the  flagging  at  her  feet.  Richard's  heart  went 
to  throbbing,  of  course.  It  was  as  if  the  sight  diffused  a 
fragrance,  in  which  all  his  senses  swam.  She  disengaged 
the  shawl  from  her  neck,  and  hung  it  on  her  arm,  still  look- 
ing the  other  way.  If  Richard  had  been  a  German,  ho  w^ould 
have  wept;  if  an  Jtalian,  torn  his  hair;  if  a  Frenchman, 
leaped  towards  the  beloved  one.  He  was  an  American,  and 
did  not  know  what  to  do.  He  could  not  remain  stationary ;  he 
dared  not  advance.  As  he  was  about  to  retreat,  or,  rather, 
make  a  detour  across  the  street,  on  the  opposite  walk  he  be- 
held Miss  Eyre.  She  was  loitering,  and  had  evidently  been 
watching  him  and  Melicent.  Well,  go  back.  But  in  this 
direction,  his  eye  encountered  the  person  of  Clover,  partially 
concealed  by  the  twilight  shadows  of  the  trees,  who  had 
been  reconnoitring  all  three.  Fly,  sink,  burst;  he  would 
have  rejoiced  in  any  slight  miracle,  or,  as  he  was  sufficiently 
distended,  why  not,  like  a  kernel  of  corn  in  the  fire,  permit 
him  to  pop  out  of  his  dilemma,  and  drop,  say,  into  his  little 
chamber  at  Willow  Croft?  There  was  the  glimmer  of  an 
equivocal  smile  on  Miss  Eyre's  face;  Clover  satanically 
gloated ;  Melicent  had  her  back  towards  him,  with  her  eyes 
on  the  clouds.  Silent,  calm,  unconscious  Melicent,  in  her 
blue  dress ;  what  a  fever  she  created,  —  what  a  prairie-on- 
fire,  with  the  flames  approaching  and  fencing  one  in  on  all 
sides,  she  incontinently  aroused !  She  went  through  the 
gate,  and  into  the  house,  and  made  an  escape  at  once  for 
Richard's  person  and  alarm. 

A  reader  of  the  manuscript,  —  perhaps  a  lion  inspecting 
a  flock  of  kids  in  the  distance,  —  perhaps  a  musk-deer, 


388  RICHARD    EDNEY   AND 

pretty,  but  languid,  —  says  the  wTriter  questions,  when  he 
ought  to  narrate ;  hints  at  what  should  be  developed,  is 
redundant  in  unimportant  brevities,  sparing  in  what  is  rich 
and  copious,  and  that,  hastening  through  pleasant  fields,  he 
loiters  in  barrens.  For  instance,  that  in  this  last  incident, 
while  there  is  much  said,  there  is  an  omission  of  what  is 
essential  to  the  right  feeling  of  the  scene,  —  to  wit,  that  the 
dress  of  Melicent,  the  contour  of  her  person,  the  verisimili- 
tude of  her  motion,  the  way  she  rested  her  arm  on  the  gate, 
had  been  endeared  to  Kichard  by  the  deepest  of  all  associa- 
tions —  love.  That  the  gate-post  supplanted  his  arm,  and 
he  must  needs  be  pained  at  the  interference.  That  the  con- 
trast between  the  pleasant  past  and  the  dismal  present  was 
provoking;  that  his  heart  was  inflamed  with  a  sense  of 
repulsed,  disdained  love,  that  still  loved  on.  Our  reply  is, 
that  we  described  the  case  in  its  phenomena,  if  not  in  its 
substance ;  that  we  stated  the  external  facts,  if  not  their 
spiritual  connection ;  in  a  word,  acting  upon  the  suggestions 
of  our  respected  College  Rhetorical  Professor,  made  many 
years  ago,  and  living  in  our  memory  still,  we  "  left  some- 
thing to  the  imagination  of  the  reader." 

That  night,  as  sometimes  happened,  Bebby  slept  with 
Richard.  The  Moon,  bright  and  full,  shone  into  the 
chamber,  and  upon  the  bed,  and  on  the  child,  restoring  the 
beauty  of  the  features,  and  illuminating  the  silvery  hair  of 
the  slumberer.  Richard  raised  himself  on  his  elbow,  and 
bent  over  the  unconscious  enchanter  with  mingled  agony 
and  ecstasy.  It  was  as  if  a  vision  of  beauty  and  repose  had 
been  lent  to  him  from  some  far  off  heaven.  It  was  as  if  his 
own  innocency  and  early  promise  had  been  collected  out  of 
his  life,  and  laid  in  breathing  form  at  his  side.  Was  it  his 
Childhood  come  back  to  mock  him  ?  Was  it  put  there  to 
re  inspire  him  ?     He  worked  his  fingers  in  his  dark  hair,  till 


THE    governor's    FAMILY.  389 

it  hung  in  tang-Jed  locks  over  the  pearly  fairness  before  him, 
and  his  worried  brow  contrasted  strongly  with  the  calm  face 
of  the  little  one..  It  was  Despair  bending  over  Hope  ;  it  was 
Sorrow  confronted  with  Blessedness ;  it  was  penitent  Aspi- 
ration weeping  at  the  feet  of  some  long-lost  Ideality.  He 
kissed  the  child,  inhaled  its  balsamic  breath,  and  laid  down 
by  the  side  of  it  to  sleep. 

Fourth-of-July  came,  and  the  evening  was  to  be  celebrated 
with  a  new  display,  —  the  illumination  of  May-flower  Glen, 
by  lamps  suspended  in  the  trees,  and  heightened,  withal, 
by  a  band  of  music.  Everybody  was  abroad  that  day,  and 
Richard,  with  Memmy  and  Bebby,  followed  in  the  wake. 

Richard's  enjoyment  seemed  rather  to  lie  behind  him,  in 
the  children,  than  before  him,  in  the  scenes  of  the  occasion. 
He  appeared  to  be  hauling  his  pleasures  along,  instead  of 
going  in  pursuit  of  them.  He  labored  under  the  mistake  we 
have  commented  upon.  There  were,  at  a  moderate  compu- 
tation, 30,000  people  in  the  city  and  in  the  streets  thereof, 
that  morning,  and  all  recreating ;  and  how  few  knew  any- 
thing of  Richard,  and  how  fewer  were  intent  on  anything  else 
than  happiness,  or  were  unwilling  that  everybody  should 
be  happy  loo !  Richard  found  this  out  before  the  day 
was  over,  and  that  he  had  really  nothing  else  to  do  but  for- 
get himself,  and  care  and  sorrow,  and  be  as  happy  as  the 
rest.  He  found  out,  too,  that  he  was  not  of  any  conse- 
quence compared  with  a  show-bill  of  the  Theatre,  which  a 
jam  of  people  on  the  side-walk  were  almost  in  a  quarrel  to 
see,  and  never  thought  of  opening  for  him  to  pass.  There 
were  gay  processions  through  the  streets,  and  great  crowds 
following  them  ;  there  were  crowds  about  Dr.  Broad  well's 
Church,  where  an  oration  was  to  be  delivered ;  >there  vvere 
multitudes  of  boys  and  girls,  from  the  country,  filling  the 
candy-shops  and  ice-cream  saloons.  Memmy  and  Bebby 
33* 


390  RICHARD    EDNEY   AND 

saw  SO  many  strange  sights,  and  fell  into  so  many  novel 
situations,  their  surprise,  curiosity  and  glee,  were  gradually 
communicated  to  their  Uncle. 

But  May-flower  Glen,  in  the  evening,  was  the  greatest 
spectacle.  Half  a  thousand  lamps  shed  a  palatial,  alabas- 
trian  light  through  sylvan  corridors,  and  on  grassy  ter- 
races ;  they  glimmered  in  the  tinkling  brook,  and  glowed 
again  in  thousands  of  bright  countenances.  There  was  the 
vacant  strolling  to  and  fro,  the  chattering  of  animated 
groups,  the  roistering  of  children,  and  the  quiet  looking  on 
of  elderly  people.  There  were  fair  young  ladies,  in  white 
dresses,  and  lavender-colored  dresses,  and  changeable  silk 
dresses ;  girdled,  tuniced,  caped ;  with  flowers  in  their  hands, 
and  on  their  breasts,  and  in  their  hair;  and  great  luxuriance 
of  beautiful  hair,  and  great  glory  of  joyous  feeling,  and  a 
whole  Avoca-vale  of  sweetness,  loveliness,  and  hope,  in  their 
eyes  and  on  their  lips.  There  were  noble-looking  young 
rnen,  in  white  trowsers  and  vests,  and  some  with  red  sashes. 
Hidden  music  filled  the  place  with  enchantment,  as  if  Pan 
and  his  nymphs,  and  their  pipes,  were  concealed  in  the 
grove. 

We  have  not  said  that  Richard  had  anything  to  do  in 
getting  this  up ;  —  he  had,  nevertheless.  He  was  on  the 
committee  of  arrangements ;  and,  if  less  conspicuous,  was  as 
effective  as  any.  This  committee  wore  red  sashes ;  —  Rich- 
ard omitted  the  badge. 

Richard  was  so  caught  up,  subdued,  or  etherized^  or 
whatever  it  be,  by  the  pleasantness  of  the  hour,  he  saw  Miss 
Eyre  pass  without  a  pang,  and  beheld  Melicent  in  the  dis- 
tance without  emotion,  unless  it  be  that  of  simple  gladness. 

As  he  stood,  with  the  two  children  in  front  of  him,  on  a 
seat,  ]\Iangil  approached,  with  Melicent  and  Helen  the  Good 
on  his  arm.     Mangil  bowed,  and  Richard  bowed,  and  they 


THE    GOVERNOR  S    FAMILY.  dyL 

all  bowed ;  and  Mangil  took  Eichard's  hand,  and  so  did 
Helen  the  Good,  and  Richard  and  Melicent  exchanged  the 
same,  compliment.  "  Beautiful !"  said  the  Broker;  "fine, 
inexpressible,  —  a  high  quotation  !  It  carries  the  board," 
"  It  was  a  splendid  idea,"  said  Helen  the  Good.  "I  enjoy  it 
exceedingly.  Don't  you?  "  said  Melicent.  Richard  replied 
that  he  did.  "  The  children,"  added  Melicent,  "  are  so 
happy!"  "It  is  a  great  treat  to  them,"  rejoined  Richard. 
The  children  showed  a  joyous  excitement  when  they  saw 
Melicent ;  but  Richard  had  the  advantage  of  them,  and  kept 
them  still.  Mangil,  being  one  of  the  committee,  wore  a 
sash,  and,  alluding  pleasantly  to  Richard's  want  of  it,  said, 
"  You  are  not  in  authority  to-night."  "  It  goes  off  of  itself," 
replied  Richard.  "  Then  it  must  have  been  admirably  con- 
trived," added  Helen  the  Good.  "  I  think  so,  too,"  said 
Melicent. 

At  this  moment,  a  lamp  fell  in  the  rear  of  Richard,  and 
there  was  a  shriek  in  the  crowd.  "  Will  the  ladies  please 
to  look  after  the  children?"  said  Richard,  starting  for  the 
scene  of  alarm.  It  was  Miss  Eyre,  whom  the  accident 
frightened  into  a  swoon.  Richard  helped,  bear  her  to  a 
seat,  where,  with  due  application  of  fans,  and  water  from 
the  brook,  she  presently  recovered.  Richard  returned  to  the 
children,  whom  he  found  alone  with  Melicent.  "  Helen  the 
Good,"  said  the  latter,  "is  always  foremost  in  scenes  of  dis- 
tress, and  withholds  from  no  terrors ;  and  she,  with  Mr. 
Mangil,  followed  you."  "  I  was  apprehensive,"  said  Richard, 
"  in  the  haste  of  preparation,  that  some  of  the  lamps  were  not 
made  sufficiently  fast.  I  regret  it  exceedingly."  "  Did  you 
know  the  person?"  asked  Melicent.  "  It  was  Miss  Eyre," 
replied  Richard.  "It  is  but  a  trifle,"  continued  Melicent, 
"and  produces  no  sensible  effect  on  the  general  festivity," 
"  More    scared    than   hurt,"   said   Helen   the   Good,   who 


392  RICHARD    EDNEY    AND 

returned,  laughing.  "  She  is  a  sensitive  creature,"  re- 
joined Melicent.  "  We  were  discussing  the  propriety  of 
repeating  these  illuminations,"  said  the  Broker.  "  I  should 
like  it,"  said  Eichard.  "  So  should  I,"  said  Helen  the 
Good.     "  And  I,"  responded  Melicent. 

Promenading  commenced,  and  Mangil,  with  the  ladies, 
wheeling  into  the  ranks,  moved  off  to  music. 

As  Richard  had  received  and  conversed  with  Melicent,  so 
he  saw  her  retire,  without  agitation.  He  did  watch  the 
rose-bud  in  her  hair,  till  it  was  lost  in  a  thicket  of  flowers 
and  the  glimmering  distance. 

Ere  long  the  band  struck  up  Home,  Sweet  Home,  the  sig- 
nal of  dispersion,  and  the  people  obeyed  the  hint. 

The  sentimentalist  asks,  how  could  Richard  keep  his 
countenance  and  heart,  during  such  an  interview  with  Meli- 
cent? The  reply  has  already  been  indicated  in  what  was 
said  of  the  general  exhilaration  of  the  hour.  There  is  an. 
effect  in  festivity  like  music,  at  once  exciting  and  tranquil- 
lizing; it  clears  the  atmosphere  of  the  mind,  and  leaves  one 
in  a  state  of  azure  quietude. 

But,  interposes  the  lady  judge,  that  may  answer  for 
Eichard  ;  —  it  does  not  explain  Melicent.  No  woman,  who 
had  ever  so  loved,  or  was  so  separated,  could  be  so  insensi- 
ble and  emotionless  in  a  subsequent  encounter.  We  would 
not  be  wise  above  what  is  written,  nor  above  what  a  lady 
knows.  But  we  are  at  liberty  to  conjecture,  —  first,  that  the 
laws  of  emotion  in  the  two  sexes  are  not  radically  different ; 
and,*  therefore,  secondly,  that  a  woman,  under  these  circum- 
stances, might  be  calm.  We  believe,  furthermore,  if  the 
phrase  does  not  offend,  that  a  woman  will  swallow  down 
more  emotion  than  a  man,  and  preserve  a  face  of  stone 
when  the  latter  is  flaming  to  the  roots  of  his  hair.  Besides, 
it  may  be  stated  that  the  love  both  of  Richard  and  Melicent 


THE    governor's    FAMILY.  393 

was  founded,  as  Miss  Edgeworth  would  say,  on  esteem,  and 
not  on  impulse;  and  this  will  afford  some  key  to  their  sub- 
sequent conduct,  throughout.  Finally,  Melicent  was  not 
the  aggressor,  —  she  was  purely  a  sufferer;  and  Christian 
principle,  to  speak  of  nothing  else,  would  save  her  from 
rudeness,  —  check  the  ferment  of  feeling,  and  help  maintain 
the  equilibrium  of  her  mind. 

What  may  be  called  the  Philosophy  of  Blushes,  in  other 
words,  the  law  of  the  expression  of  emotion,  has  not  been 
written ;  or  if  so,  we  have  not  seen  it.  The  subject  is  a 
curious  and  a  serious  one.     Life  and  death  hang  upon  it. 

How  had  Melicent  borne  herself  in  trials  so  painful  to  the 
female  heart,  and  to  all  hearts,  through  which  she  had 
passed  ?  If  we  should  say  she  sometimes  lamented  and 
wept,  —  that  she  had  her  hours  of  terror  and  anguish, — 
should  we  hazard  any  truth  ?  Richard  had  arisen  to  her  eye 
a  splendid  model  of  a  human  being;  and  to  see  this  shattered 
by  one  blow,  must  needs  distress  her.  But  she  had  supports 
that  Eichard  wanted  ;  —  one,  in  the  unequivocalness  of  her 
position  ;  another,  in  the  multitude  of  her  friends;  a  third, 
in  the  abundant  and  elegant  ministries  of  her  daily  life. 

In  a  letter  to  a  friend,  she  says,  "You  will  expect  me 
to  be  dejected.  I  am  saddened  by  Richard,  and  for  him. 
He  was  so  purely  princely  to  my  imagination,  I  am  slow  to 
comprehend  his  vulgarity.  Could  the  great  Enemy  of  souls 
dissemble  so  ?  My  attention  was  first  called  to  the  heroism, 
simplicity,  and  modesty,  of  his  outward  life.  My  interest 
was  awakened  by  contact  with  his  sentiments.  I  first  knew 
his  heart,  —  was  introduced  to  his  reflections,  and,  so  to 
say,  made  the  journey  of  his  principles  and  purposes  ;  and 
found  myself  a  lover.  I  loved  him  as  soul  can  love  soul, 
as  sympathy  yearns  for  sympathy,  as  weakness  is  won  by 
strength,  as  aspiration   adores  grandeur.      Was  he   great 


394  RICHARD   EDNEY,    ETC. 

enough  to  deceive  me?  —  simply,  coldly,  infernally  vast 
enough  ?  Harrowing  suggestion  !  cruel  imputation  !  ]My 
chamber,  which,  has  been  enlivened  by  the  flow  of  every 
pleasant  feeling,  is  sacred  to  silence  and  to  sorrow.  A 
Sleeping  Christ  hangs  on  my  walls  ;  — let  me  repose  on  my 
God.  Above  sin  and  woe,  doubt  and  questioning,  is  the  All 
Love  ;  —  let  me  be  the  child  of  its  bosom.  Sparrows  sing 
in  the  trees  at  my  window.  Sunshine,  and  the  blue  heavens 
above,  and  thegreen  earth  beneath,  enconapass  them.  In 
the  midst  of  the  beauty  of  Virtue  and  Hope  that  still  sur- 
rounds my  darkened  life,  let  me  sing  too." 


CHAPTER     XXX  VIII. 

CLOVER    DISTINCT. 

Clover  had  been  at  Green  Mill  frequently  of  late,  loafer- 
wise.  The  natural  insolence  of  his  look  was  deepened  by 
a  mock  complacency.  Richard  gave  little  heed  to  htm, 
until,  at  length,  he  would  be  heeded.  He  sat  with  his  feet 
tossing  on  the  mill-chain,  —  an  endless  chain,  revolving  on 
a  toothed  shaft,  and  running  through  the  entire  width  of  the 
building,  employed  to  haul  logs  from  the  basin  up  the  slip 
to  the  bed.  He  blew  out  the  contents  of  his  mouth  in  stud- 
ied and  very  dramatic  directions.  With  his  fists  he  seemed 
to  be  kneading  the  air  into  strange  shapes,  which  he  wished 
Richard  to  look  at. 

"  '  Good  morning,'  did  you  say,  Mr.  Edney  ?  Yes,  very 
good  ;  perhaps  what  some  meekly  call  morally  good.  Cer- 
t&'mlee.  How  was  the  night?  That  good,  too?  Night, — 
shadows,  misery  ;  is  there  such  a  thing  ?  IMisery  is  heaves 
in  horses,  —  what  is  it  in  man?  In  cows,  it  is  the  horn- 
distemper.     La  la  la,  rol  la  !  " 

"  I  will  be  obliged  to  you  to  regard  my  feet,  in  disposing 
of  your  humor,"  said  Richard,  punning  and  reproachful. 

"I  do,"  replied  Clover;  "it  is  no  put-out  to  me  at  all. 
I  was  fearful  of  losing  your  attention,  —  I  did  not  know 
but  you  would  get  abstracted.  That  cutting-off  saw,  I 
should  say,  wanted  filing;  it  has  seen  some  hard  stuff. 
Goose-oil  and  yellow  snuff  are  good  for  croup,  and  all  cases 
of  strangulation,  and  when  a  man's  heart  gets  into  his 
throat,  and  for  a  wheezy  old  mill  like  this." 


396  RICHARD    EDNEY    AND 

"I  shall  trouble  you  to  remove  your  feet  from  that 
chain, "  said  Richard. 

"  CertainZee  ;  you  want  to  start  it,  —  you  want  to  see  it 
go  round  and  round,  —  you  want  to  see  it  haul  up  the  great 
black  trunks  of  old  life  and  hope ;  and  I  could  stop  it,  —  I 
could  prevent  it." 

"  I  only  meant,  "  replied  Kichard,  "  if  you  did  not  stand 
back,  you  might  get  hurt." 

"  I  only  mean,"  rejoined  Clover,  "  that  while  my  feet  are 
on  the  chain,  you  would  not  wish  to  or  dare  to  start  it. 
Off?  yes,  I  take  them  off;  if  you  want  to  hear  the  clank, 
clank,  and  see,  coming  up  the  slip,  the  shivered  butts  of 
things,  and  the  hearts  all  eaten  out,  and  hollow  and  dead. 
That  is  the  English  of  it." 

«'  Of  what  ?  " 

"  What  you  have  been  thinking  about,  this  morning." 

"I  dislike  your  presence." 

"  I  know  you  do." 

"  I  shall  take  some  pains  to  rid  myself  of  it." 

"  It  cannot  be  got  rid  of.  You  must  keep  it  by  you. 
Your  pains-taking  makes  it  stick  closer.  It  hugs, — abso- 
lutely hugs." 

Richard  had  become  considerably  aroused,  to  say  the  least, 
by  these  words  of  Clover;  and  could  not  help  but  suspect  him. 

"  Speak  plain,"  he  said. 

"  I  do,"  replied  Clover,  with  an  unutterable  sneer ;  "  so 
plain  you  perfectly  comprehend  what  I  say.  Shall  I  speak 
plainer?  " 

"  Come  this  way,"  said  Richard,  and  called  the  fellow  to 
the  rear  of  the  building. 

"  You  are  acquainted  with  Miss  Eyre  ? "  said  Clover. 

"  I  know  her,"  replied  Richard. 

"  Too  well !  " 


THE    governor's    FAMILY.  397 

"  None  of  your  innuendoes,  or  I  shall  be  tempted  to  pitch 
you  into  the  water  !  " 

"  Where  you  have  been,  for  some  time.  I  doubt  if  you 
can  be  anxious  for  my  company." 

"  Why  do  you  assail  me  in  this  way  ?  " 

"I  am  acting  out  my  unspeakable  DESTINY  ! !  " 

"  How  long  have  you  been  at  it  ?  " 

"  Some  months." 

"  Have  )'ou  had  any  particular  understanding  with  Miss 
Eyre  ?     Answer  me  that." 

"  I  have  seen  Miss  Eyre." 

"  Have  you  conspired  with  her  as  against  me  ?  " 

"A  singular  question,  —  a  cowardly  question;  I  don't 
wonder  you  look  pale  in  asking  it.  But  why  set  the  chain 
a-going  ? " 

•'  What  do  3'ou  mean  by  j'our  feet  being  on  it  ?  " 

"  O,  I  like  to  rest  them  there.     I  skip  and  play  on  it;    I 

DANCE    ON    IT  !  " 

"  You  are  a  devil !  " 

"  Nay,  you  mistake  ;  mj'-  name  is  Clover,  —  John  Clover, 

—  son  of  Col.  Clover,  of  Clover  Hill.     Moreover,  the  world 
is  clover,  and  you  are  clover,  and   I  am  —  you  know  what, 

—  in  it ;  a  little  one,  a  fat  one,  a  bright-eyed  one.     Tweedle 
dum,  tweedle  dee,  dum  de  dee  dum ! " 

"  You  have  instigated  Miss  Eyre." 

"  I  have  exercised  my  rights.  Have  you  forgotten  ?  I  was 
afraid  you  would  forget.  Now,  say  your  catechism.  —  Who 
was  the  first  man  ?  " 

"Adam,"  replied  Richard;  waiting  to  see  what  would 
come. 

"  Who  was  the  second  man  ?  " 

"  In  his  own  estimation,  Clover." 

"  Well  done  !  a  bright  lad.  You  slightly  transposed ; 
34 


398  RICHARD    EDNEY    A^V 

Clover  is  the  first  man,  and  Adam  the  second.  A  mere 
slip  of  memory.  Try  again.  By  what  did  the  French  take 
Algiers  ? " 

"  Might." 

"  Good !  Frame  that,  and  hang  it  up  to  look  at.  By 
what  right  do  they  hold  it  ?  " 

"  Might." 

"  Bravissimo  !  Go  to  the  head  of  your  class.  By  what 
right  are  English  laws  in  force  in  Calcutta  ? " 

"Might." 

"  Make  that  a  postulate  of  your  whole  life !  By  what 
right  are  men  held  iia  slavery  ?  " 

"  Might." 

"  That  is  the  story  !  You  are  now  indoctrinated.  Might 
IS  RIGHT  ! !  Might  creates  right,  —  sustains  right,  —  is  the 
sober  little  thing  itself.  This  is  the  first  principle  of  human 
affairs.  It  is  the  universal  law.  It  is  the  method  of  the 
world ;  and  I  am  the  world.  I  am  an  embodiment  of  it. 
Its  principles  are  seated  in  my  breast;"  he  thumped  his 
ribbed  hoUowness.  "  Its  laws  are  codified,  if  I  may  use 
the  expression,  in  my  fist ;  "   he  displayed  that  member. 

"  And  you  have  interfered  with  my  happiness  ?" 

"  You  have  insulted  my  banner !  You  have  fished  in 
my  waters ;  you  have  interrupted  my  business ;  you  have 
usurped  authority  in  my  domain ;  and  I  have  crushed  you ! 
I  could  do  it,  and  I  did  do  it ;  that  is  all !  Whooeehoo ! 
whooeehoo ! " 

It  flashed  upon  Richard,  —  nay,  it  blazed  and  burnt  upon 
him,  as  if  the  sun  had  fallen  at  his  feet, —  that  Clover  was 
6ack  of  the  diffiiculty  with  Miss  Eyre,  and  beneath  it ; 
remedilessly,  diabolically,  and  everlastingly,  there;  and, 
staggering  at  the  thought,  "  Good  God  !  "  he  cried,  quite 
unable  to  contain  his  emotion. 


THE    GOVERNOR  S    FAMILY.  J»tf 

"  Perhaps  you  have  not  read,"  continued  Clover,  "  what  a 
great  historian  says,  that  the  sufferings  of  war  purge  human 
nature.  1  mean  that  your  human  nature  shall  be  purged. 
And  as  you  begin  to  pray,  I  doubt  not  you  already  feel 
humble  and  penitent,  and  are  ready  to  sue  for  peace,  —  for 
peace  with  me." 

"  No  more  ! "  said  Richard ;  "  no  more  !  You  have  suc- 
ceeded. You  have  crushed  me.  Heaven  shall  avenge 
itself,  —  I  will  not.  Could  I  pray,  'Father,  forgive  thee  !' 
I  gather  myself  unto  myself  and  my  God.  I  submit  to  an 
inexplicable  Providence.  I  cease  from  life  in  the  flesh,  that 
I  may  live  the  life  of  the  spirit.  Go,  Clover !  I  will  not 
&ay,  go  and  be  danmed ;  but  go  and  sin  no  more." 

Richard  clasped  his  hands  bitterlj'-,  and  exclaimed,  "  O 
my  Father !  had  it  pleased  thee  that  this  cup  should  pass 
from  me  !     Nevertheless,  not  my  will,  but  thine,  be  done  !  " 

The  Mill-men,  as  if  a  serious  disturbance  had  arisen,  with 
axes  and  poles,  ran  forward ;  and,  at  a  word  from  Richard, 
it  seemed  as  if  they  would  have  struck  Clover  dead.  Rich- 
ard waved  them  into  silence,  and  Clover  strode  from  the 
spot. 


CHAPTER    XXXIX. 

IN    WHICH    THE    AUTHOR     BRIEFLY    PHILOSOPHIZES    ON    MAN. 

On  a  previous  page,  we  undertook  to  say  what  a  Tale, 
with  Richard  and  sundry  things  in  it,  was  like.  We  did 
not  state  what  Richard,  with  sundry  things  in  him,  was  like. 
How,  with  emotion  succeeding  emotion,  excitement  spoom- 
ing  across  excitement,  and  the  suppression  of  all  elementaiy 
hope  and  life,  could  he  exist  at  all  ?  We  found  him  joyous 
and  glad  in  "Knuckle  Lane"  and  Melicent,  upset  by  Miss 
Eyre,  trembling  before  Melicent  at  the  gate,  calm  in  May- 
flower Glen,  lively  in  the  Hennery,  and  now  "  crushed  "  by 
Clover.  Wave  follows  wave  in  the  human  breast,  tumult 
vies  with  tumult.  But  what  is  the  human  breast?  What 
is  left  of  Richard  now  ?  Let  him  have  a  good  night's  sleep, 
some  one  says,  and  he  will  wake  up  feeling  better.  Nay, 
and  let  it  be  all  solemnly  said,  there  is  an  Underv/orking,  as 
well  as  All-Encompassing  God,  who  knits  together  the  shat- 
tered fibres  of  existence,  and  repairs  the  breaches  in  the 
foundations  of  the  soul.  The  great  reaper,  Sorrow,  did  seem 
to  have  clipped  Richard  close  and  clean,  and  stooked  him  out 
for  aye;  but  there  remained  charity,  truth,  duty,  and  abso- 
lute submission  to  God.  And  Richard  had  the  spirit  of 
Christ;  — or,  at  least,  we  shall  for  the  present  beg  so  much 
out  of  the  main  question  at  issue.  He  was  so  thoroughly  in 
the  feeling  of  his  Master,  that,  in  this  his  last  trial,  as  it 
were  instinctively  and  unconsciously,  he  expressed  himself 
in  those  words  which  have  become  a  formula  of  agony  and 
piety  in  all  ages.     His  moral  existence,  his  self-counter- 


RICHAED   EDNEY,    ETC.  401 

poise,  his  capability  of  sustained  exertion,  would  seem  to  be 
annihilated  by  the  unremitting  stroke  of  misfortune ;  yet 
he  lived  and  worked  on.  How  could  this  be,  except  through 
the  power  of  God,  in  which  he  trusted,  and  unto  which 
he  clave  ?  There  is  the  Gulf  Stream,  which  moves  on 
betimes  and  proportionately,  straight  forwards,  forevermore. 
The  winds  would  head  it  off;  —  they  only  fret  its  surface. 
The  tides  invade  it ;  —  it  lifts  them  up,  and  bears  them  in 
its  arms.  There  may  be  a  Gulf  Stream  of  piety,  conscien- 
tiousness, rectitude,  and  faith  in  man.  We  hope  there  was 
one  in  Richard. 

34* 


CHAPTER    XL. 

RICHAKD    PERSISTS    IN    TRYING   TO    DO    §00D. 

He  kept  up  his  Ragged  School,  and  did  his  best  to  tame 
the  Wild  Olives.  And  in  this  charity  he  chanced  upon  two 
singular  and  very  unexpected  co-laborers.  These  were  none 
other  than  Captain  Creamer  and  Tunny.  The  Captain  had 
become  reduced  in  estate  and  in  feeling,  —  so  much  so,  as 
to  beg  small  favors  in  money  from  Richard,  whom  he  had 
both  patronized  and  abused.  This  tested  Richard's  Chris- 
tian principle.  Would  he  assist  a  man  who  had  so  an- 
noyed him?  He  did,  —  he  was  kind  to  the  Captain  when 
others  abandoned  him.  The  Captain  became  peevish  and 
dejected,  as  he  was  deserted  and  despised.  Under  these 
circumstances,  Richard  not  only  helped  him,  but  was  able  to 
secure  his  help.  He  told  him  there  was  work  to  be  done  in 
the  Ragged  School,  and  prevailed  with  him  to  unite  in  that 
enterprise.  But  how  should  Tunny  be  there  ?  The  Green 
Grocer  had  fallen,  too,  —  failed,  and,  like  Richard,  was 
crushed.  Worse  than  the  mice,  whose  inroads  he  so  pathet- 
ically described,  the  vanity  and  folly  of  his  wife  had  under- 
mined him.  He  was  reduced  to  what  "  the  law  allowed," 
—  less  then  than  now ;  everything  else,  even  to  his  credit 
and  good  name,  fled.  It  was  rumored  that  he  gambled ;  — 
and  this  hurt  him. 

Richard  visited  him  in  his  bereavement,  and  his  wife  in 
her  despair,  and  was  a  comforter  unto  both.  It  was  a  sight 
to  melt  one's  heart,  to  see  Mrs.  Tunny  in  her  faded  kitchen 
dress,  without  a  curl  in  her  hair,  or  a  bow  on  her  bosom. 
Richard  found  employment  in  the  Mill  for  Theodoric,  their 


niCTIARD  EDNEY,  ETC.  403 

son.  The  Sailmaker,  who  had  married  their  daughter 
Faustina,  and  between  whom  and  Mrs.  Tunny  alienation 
never  slumbered,  Richard  reconciled,  and  persuaded  him  to 
commiserate  his  mother-in-law,  and  take  her  to  live  with 
him.  The  husband  he  summoned  in  his  train  of  benefi- 
cence. 

These  three  men,  sufficiently  miserable  themselves,  yet 
found  a  lower  misery  to  which  they  could  minister.  It 
made  Roxy  smile  to  see  Richard  start  off  for  the  Point,  of  a 
Sunday  afternoon,  with  his  two  fellow-missionaries,  on 
their  work  of  mercy.  Mysie  was  the  sexton  of  this  Church, 
—  she  opened  the  house,  swept  the  floor,  and  lighted  the 
candles. 

There  was  a  little  pleasant  reiiction  in  Richard's  favor. 
Captain  Creamer  repented  him  of  the  wrong  he  did  to 
Richard,  in  refusing  to  testify  before  the  court  of  females  at 
Whichcomb's.  He  knew  it  was  his  authoritative  injunction 
that  caused  Richard  to  stay  in  the  chamber  with  the  Old 
Man  and  orphan  girls.  He  would  make  reparation.  Un- 
known to  Richard,  who  would  not  have  suffered  it,  he  went 
to  Miss  Frecling,  —  a  sort  of  flame  of  the  Captain's  earlier 
and  better  days,  —  and  reported  tlie  facts.  This  lady 
repaired  immediately  to  Miss  Rowena,whom  she  knew  par- 
ticularly well,  and  repeated  what  she  had  heard. 


CHAPTER    XLI. 

RICHARD   GOES    INTO    THE    COUNTRY. 

Miss  Eowena,  while  she  could  not  doubt  Richard's  wrong- 
doing, still  felt  that  he  had  been  harshly  disposed  of  by  Mrs. 
Melbourne.  In  discussing  the  matter  with  the  latter,  she 
even  went  so  far  as  to  seem  to  clear  him  altogether.  She 
was  not  sorry  for  any  fissure  of  brightness  in  the  case.  She 
thoroughly  disliked  Glendar.  Keeping  her  own  counsels, 
however,  she  had  the  boldness,  in  company  with  Miss  Free- 
ling,  to  come  directly  to  Willow  Croft.  Could  the  testimony 
of  Junia  be  had  ?  Would  Richard  be  willing  to  go  and  see 
her  ?  "I  ask  this,"  said  she,  "  not  in  relation  to  any  other 
thing,  or  other  person,  than  myself.  I  should  really  like  to 
know  if  Mrs.  Whichcomb  misrepresented.  For  my  private 
satisfaction,  will  you  go  ?  "  Miss  Freeling  and  Roxy  united 
in  urging  the  measure.  "  It  can  alter  nothing,"  replied 
Richard.     But  go  he  must. 

It  was  midsummer,  and  Green  Mill  was  active.  —  Captain 
Creamer,  to  say  nothing  of  Mr.  Gouch  and  Silver,  would 
take  care  of  that. 

It  was  midsummer,  and  Richard  had  had  his  Night's 
Dream  ;  and  he  would  be  glad  of  daylight,  —  he  would  be 
glad  of  rest  and  recreation. 

So  he  set  off  with  Winkle  on  the  road  he  had  formerly 
traversed.  Winkle  was  kind  to  Richard,  as  he  was  to  every- 
body, and  did  all  in  his  power  to  cheer  the  journey.  What 
on  his  former  ride  had  really  interested  and  delighted  Rich- 
ard, in  Winkle  and  in  the  way,  now  had  a  melo-dramatic 
effect,  that  served  to  divert  him. 


RICHARD    EDNEY,    ETC.  405 

"  That  man,"  Winkle  would  say,  as  he  passed  along^, 
"  is  n't  dead  yet.  He  has  been  dying  this  two  year.  —  That 
girl  lost  her  lover.  I  did  all  I  could  to  save  him. —  The 
right  eye  of  that  goose  has  n't  winked  for  twenty  years.  — 
That  boy  has  swung  on  that  gate  so  long  the  hinges  have 
rusted  off.  —  I  wonder  when  Tim  Doze  finds  time  to  eat ! 
He  began  picking  his  teeth  in  the  door-way  under  the  old 
driver,  and  has  kept  at  it  ever  since." 

Richard  at  length  reached  the  house  whither  he  had  orig- 
inally conveyed  Junia. 

Junia  was  there,  notwithstanding  rumors  of  another  sort. 
The  Old  Man,  her  grandfather,  was  still  alive,  but  weak  and 
infirm  ;  and  he  remembered  the  kindness  Richard  had  done 
unto  him.  Their  abode  was  a  pleasant  one,  in  a  region,  on 
a  moderate  scale,  of  considerable  diversity.  Elms  towered 
in  shallow  coombs.  Corn-lots  swept  from  the  sky  on  one 
side  to  a  gully  on  the  other.  Wheat  eddied  across  sunny 
slopes.  The  light-green  mowing  was  terminated  by  a  belt 
of  dark  forest.  In  the  rear  of  the  house  was  a  flourishing 
orchard.  Cattle  and  sheep  could  be  seen  lying  in  clumps 
of  trees  in  the  pastures.  The  highway,  passing  a  neighbor- 
ing farm-house,  disappeared  in  wooded  hills.  Venerable 
oaks  were  scattered  about  the  premises.  A  white  school- 
house,  and  its  "  bordering  "  of  maples,  crowned  a  swell  in 
the  landscape.  There  were  many  things  that  operated  to 
remind  Richard  of  his  own  home  and  childhood,  and  recall 
the  days  of  his  innocent  and  unfettered  existence.  The 
woodbine,  that  veiled  the  front  of  the  house,  rolled  its  tide 
of  verdure  over  the  roof,  and  shaded  the  snug  parlor,  was 
like  one  he  himself  set  out,  and  had  recently  seen,  in  Green 
Meadow.  The  back  porch,  with  its  posts  all  alive  with  hop- 
vines,  was  so  like  his  mother's.  The  dairy-room  had  the 
same  white  shelves  and  savory  neatness  as  the  one  he  had 


406  RICHARD    EDNEY   AND 

passed  a  thousand  times.  The  gourd-dipper,  —  how  often 
had  he  dipped  water  with  it,  and  held  it  by  both  hands  to 
drink !  In  the  garden,  too,  was  the  old  sage-bed  and  its 
border  of  marigolds  and  chrysanthemums.  Farmer  Cress- 
well  was  an  intelligent  and  industrious,  and  of  course  a 
thriving  man.  His  wife,  the  aunt-in-law  of  Junia,  supported 
her  side  of  the  house.  They  had  a  son,  who  helped  his 
father,  —  a  daughter,  the  right  hand  of  her  mother,  and 
little  children  at  school.  They  bought  books,  and  took  a 
newspaper.  It  was  a  magnanimous  and  kind-hearted  fam- 
ily.    They  welcomed  Richard  with  rural  hospitality  to  rural 

joys- 
Here  Junia  had  spent  the  years  since  she  left  Woodylin, 
The  father  of  Junia,  an  artist,  having  gone  to  Rome  to  com- 
plete his  education,  on  the  return  voyage  was  drowned.  Her 
mother  died  while  the  children  were  young,  leaving  to  them 
the  legacy  of  a  tender  memory  and  unavailing  regrets,  —  of 
a  spirit  attuned  to  purest  impulses,  and  a  malady  that  ere 
long  appeared  in  Violet.  They  remained  with  their  grand- 
parents until  one  died,  and  adversity  and  weakness  pros- 
trated the  other.  The  change  in  their  grandfather,  united 
with  alarming  symptoms  in  Violet,  induced  the  girls  to 
resort  to  the  Factories. 

Their  aunt,  the  wife  of  Farmer  Cresswell,  and  only  sur- 
viving child  of  the  Old  Man,  meanwhile  had  died.  Junia 
was  ignorant  of  her  successor.  If  she  had  known  what  a 
woman  she  was,  and  what  a  home  the  farm  might  be  to  her, 
she  would  have  been  spared,  if  not  her  residence,  at  least 
some  of  her  sorrows,  at  Woodylin. 

In  her  new  home,  she  assumed  charge  of  the  school  in 
the  neighborhood  ;  but  tendencies  similar  to  those  that  pros- 
trated her  sister  disclosing  themselves  in  her  constitution, 
at  length  forbade  this  species  of  exertion. 


THE    GOTERXOR  S    FAitflLY.  9^ 

The  alteration  in  Junia,  apparent  to  Richard's  eye,  for  an 
instant  afflicted  his  imagination  as  a  cloud  on  the  joyousness 
of  her  greeting,  and  a  solemnity  pervading  the  cheerful 
courtesies  of  the  house. 

But  sickness  and  sorrow  are  so  much  alike,  this  impres- 
sion gradually  assimilated  with  the  prevailing  mood  of  Rich- 
ard's mind  ;  his  sensations  became  toned  down  to  the  color 
of  Junia,  and  he  seemed  in  spirit  to  be  brought  very  near 
unto  her. 

The  neighbors  said  she  was  threatened  with  a  decline. 
She  appeared,  indeed,  to  have  been  summoned  by  the  voice 
of  Violet,  and  to  be  slowly  following  to  the  realm  of  spirits. 
The  Old  Man  presaged  the  result,  and,  with  decrepit  hilar- 
ity, instructed  Richard  in  the  fatal  signs,  and  demonstrated 
the  veritableness  of  his  predictions. 

Yet  Junia  retained  all  her  equanimity,  and  a  good  portion 
of  her  strength.  She  went  with  Richard  into  the  fields,  and 
took  a  long  walk  with  him  to  a  spring  in  the  mountains ; 
he  helped  her  trim  and  relay  the  flowers  in  the  garden. 

Several  days  passed  in  delicious  abandonment. 

Richard  imparted  his  distress  to  Junia,  and  she  was 
prompt  to  reply  to  it.  But  these  communications  and  this 
intercourse  were  not  without  a  certain  perplexity,  the  nature 
of  which  we  will  endeavor  to  unfold. 

This  brings  us  to  a  sacred  precinct  of  the  human  heart, 
and  one  that  we"should  shrink  from  traversing,  did  not  the 
proper  development  of  this  Tale  seem  imperatively  to 
demand  it ;  and  more  especially  were  we  not  confident  that 
no  handling  of  ours  could  detract  from  the  essential  interest 
and  value  that  invested  -the  subject  to  the  parties  imme- 
diately concerned. 

Let  us  briefly  state  the  facts,  leaving  the  mystical  and 
unknown  spirit  of  things  to  that  interpretation  which  they 
may  justly  bear.     Junia  loved  Richard,  —  not  with  an  im» 


408  RICHARD   EDNEY   AND 

patient,  or  imperious,  or  forestalling  love, —  but  with  a 
deep,  strong  love ;  —  a  love  constant,  if  not  adhesive,  -^  a 
love  that  remembered,  even  if  it  was  deficient  in  attention, 

Richard's  piety  and  charity,  his  delicate  and  constant 
assiduity,  his  devotion  to  her  sister  Violet,  and  subsequent 
care  of  herself,  at  that  early  period  when  this  Tale  opens, 
won  upon  the  heart  of  Junia,  raised  her  mere  enjoyment  of 
goodness  to  some  desire  of  its  possession,  carried  her  from 
the  common  ground  of  friendship  and  esteem  to  that  some- 
times called  hazardous  verge,  where  such  feelings  slide  into 
love,  —  slide  unwittingly  and  unpurpdsely  into  it;  —  into  a 
love  that  does  not  announce  itself,  but  lives  in  the  shadow 
of  things  about  it,  —  lives,  nun-like,  in  its  own  rriystery,  and 
novelty,  and  blessedness  ;  —  and,  perhaps,  like  the  nightin- 
gale, sings  all  the  more  sweetly  for  its  confinement  and 
seclusion.  In  all  this,  as  we  conceive,  no  trace  of  bMme 
attaches  to  Junia.  Richard,  at  the  time,  had  some  dim 
and  unheeding  impression  of  the  fact.  But,  as  an  honora- 
ble man,  he  encouraged  nothing;  as  a  modest  man,  he  was 
flattered  by  nothing;  as  a  young  man,  preoccupied  with 
business  and  apprenticed  to  a  trade,  he  remembered  noth- 
ing. 

But  when  it  was  proposed  that  he  should  see  Junia,  dim 
impressions  of  the  past  revived,  —  passively  and  spontane- 
ously revived,  —  and  perhaps  worked  to  confuse  his  deci- 
sion. And  really  the  matter  troubled  his  approach  to  her. 
His  errand  related  to  his  engagement  with  another,  —  re- 
lated to  what  must  indicate  to  Junia  how  hopelessly  she 
was  separated  from  him ;  —  related,  in  a  word,  to  topics 
that  must  give  her  pain. 

Moreover,  Miss  Eyre  knew  of  the  state  of  Junia's^eart. 
Having  early  consecrated  herself  to  Richard,  Plumy  Alicia 
was  jealous  of  any  intervention  or  rivalry.      She  was  wit- 


THE    governor's    FAMILY.  ■fi)9*- 

ness  of  Richard's  fidelity  in  the  sick  chamber ;  she  fol- 
lowed Junia  when  she  went  to  Willow  Croft,  and,  by 
methods  peculiar  to  herself,  learned  the  secret  that  otherwise 
might  have  slumbered  forever  in  the  Orphan's  breast. 

Mrs.  Eyre  relied  upon  what  she  knew  for  the  accom- 
plishment of  her  subsequent  purposes,  or  rather  to  prevent 
Richard  accomplish  his.  She  believed  that  Junia,  deeply 
attached  to  Richard,  would  not  lend  an  influence  to  facili- 
tate his  inclinations  for  another,  and  would  prefer,  of  the 
two,  rather  to  widen,  than  close,  the  breach  between  him 
and  Mehcent.  She  felt  perfectly  safe  with  Junia,  and 
hence  the  freedom  with  which  she  alluded  to  her  at  the 
council  at  Whichcomb's.  Miss  Eyre  mistook  her  own  sex. 
Richard  trusted  the  magnanimity  of  a  virtuous  heart ! 

The  short  and  decisive  inquiry  he  had  to  make  of  Junia, 
whether  his  conduct  towards  her  was  open  to  question,  she 
answered  with  a  prompt  No !  "  But  why  do  you  ask  ?  " 
said  she. 

"For  the  gratification  of  my  friends." 

"You  say  you  are  separated  from  Miss  Dennington?" 

"Forever!  "  he  added,  with  energy. 

They  were  silent.  Junia  plucked  the  grass  on  which  she 
was  sitting.  Richard  looked  at  the  flickering  branches  of 
the  tree  overhead. 

"  You  did  love  her  ? " 

"  I  did." 

"And  do?" 

"  It  is  the  mystery  of  my  existence,"  replied  Richard, 
"  that  I  do  when  I  may  not,  and  the  discipline  which  my 
heavenly  Father  imposes,  that  I  must  when  I  cannot." 

"  Do  and  may  not,  must  and  cannot,"  rejoined  Junia, 
smiling ;  "  ever  and  never ;  now  and  now,  and  no  to-mor- 
35 


410  EICHARD   EDNEY   AND 

row ;  —  how  strange  a  world  this  is !  There  are  others 
like  you." 

This  declaration  startled  Richard.  He  thought  he  knew 
what  it  meant,  and  feared  there  was  more  meaning  than  he 
would  be  able  to  manage. 

"  May  not  a  desolate  heart,"  she  said,  "  embrace  a  deso- 
late heart  ?  Embrace  mine  !  Hope,"  she  continued,  "  dis- 
tributes flowers  in  her  vases,  and  keeps  them  to  look  at  till 
their  brief  day  is  over,  when,  like  a  careful  housewife,  she 
flings  them  into  a  heap  to  die  together  !  " 

She  laid  her  hand  upon  his  shoulder ;  then,  taking  his 
arm,  they  walked  into  the  house. 

It  was  a  delightful  home  she  had,  and  Richard  was  made 
very  happy  there,  and  the  family  kept  him  many  days.  He 
would  hardly  be  sorry  if  it  were  decreed  they  should  keep 
him  always  there.  Rarely  had  he  seen  the  sun  shine  on 
so  pleasant  a  spot,  —  rarely  had  he  seen  so  pleasant  a  spot, 
when  there  was  no  sun. 

"  I  love  you,"  said  Junia,  "  therefore  do  not  be  afraid  of 
me  ;  —  I  love  you,  therefore  I  will  be  your  best  friend;  — 
I  love  you,  and  I  love  those  that  love  you.  I  have  no 
selfishness,  no  vanity,  and  will  do  what  I  can  to  make  you 
happy.  I  find  my  little  all  of  bliss  in  telling  you  that  I  love 
you.  They  say  I  shall  die  soon,  —  I  will  die  for  you.  You 
do  not  know  a  woman's  heart,  —  you  never  can ;  —  nor  a 
young  girl's  heart,  such  as  mine  was,  and  has  been,  and 
must  ever  be ;  —  nor  how,  as  a  wound  in  a  tender  sapling, 
even  when  it  heals  up,  remains  in  the  tree,  and  becomes  a 
part  of  its  heart,  and  gives  its  own  shape  to  the  fibres,  and 
has  veins  through  which  the  life  of  the  whole  flows,  —  you 
have  been  to  me.  And  now,  when  you  are  lowest  and  most 
degraded,  and,  if  it  must  be  so,  most  hopeless  to  my  wish, 
this  love  loves  you  the  most." 


THE   governor's   FAMILY.'  411 

If  Richard  ever  felt  drawn  towards  any  human  being,  — 
if  he  ever  felt  repaid  a  thousand  times  over  for  all  he  had 
done  for  any  one,  —  if  he  ever  felt  thankfulness  at  relief, 
like  a  sudden  recoil  in  the  jaws  of  a  vice  that  held  him,  — 
he  felt  this  now  in  respect  of  Junia. 

To  a  paper,  like  a  deposition,  or  affidavit,  vindicating 
Richard  from  the  calumny  promulgated  by  Mrs.  Which- 
comb,  and  behind  which  Miss  Eyre  intrenched  herself,  com- 
prising, likewise,  the  warmest  and  most  forcible  allusions  to 
his  probity  and  sincerity,  Junia  affixed  her  signature,  as  did 
likewise  her  Grandfather. 

With  this,  Richard  returned  to  Woodylin. 

The  document  was  conveyed  to  Miss  Rowena,  who,  as  to 
her  personal  rencontre  with  Mrs.  Melbourne,  rejoiced  in  the 
support  it  furnished.  But  more  :  she  showed  it  privately  to 
Melicent,  who  derived  what  consolation  she  could  from  its 
contents.  Mrs.  Melbourne,  to  whom  it  was  communicated, 
admitted  its  truthfulness,  and  allowed  its  entire  weight. 
But,  said  she,  "  Rowena,  you  must  see  that  is  not  all,  —  it 
is  not  a  beginning.  If  that  was  all,  the  case  were  quickly 
determined.  I  rejoice  as  much  as  you  do  in  this.  But  the 
greater,  the  stubborn,  the  wicked  facts  remain.  Our  evi- 
dence is  not  like  a  chain  that  can  be  spoilt  in  its  links ;  —  it 
is  like  a  stone-wall ;  and  though  you  remove  a  single  rock, 
the  strength  of  the  whole  is  not  shaken,"  There  was 
force  in  the  remark,  however  it  stood  with  the  evidence  ;  — 
and  Melicent  felt  it,  and  was  silent.  Cousin  Rowena,  not 
quite  abashed,  said, "  Perhaps  we  can  make  a  breach  through 
the  wall." 


CHAPTER    XLII. 

QUIET    RESUMPTION    OF    LIFE. 

Miss  Freeling,  who  became  a  sort  of  messenger  between 
Richard  and  the  Governor's  Family,  told  him  how  Miss 
Rowena  was  pleased  with  the  paper;  —  beyond  this,  she  could 
say  nothing,  and  Richard  expected  nothing.  In  this,  still, 
he  was  repaid  for  his  journey  ;  and  added  to  this,  his  spirits 
seemed  to  revive  in  the  remembrance  of  Junia.  He  wrote 
to  her,  and  she  to  him ;  and  her  letters  were  as  music  in 
the  night  of  his  sorrows. 

Clover  clenched  the  nail  of  Richard's  calamity,  which 
Miss  Eyre  had  already  driven  to  the  head ;  and  despair  be- 
coming a  habit  and  law  of  his  mind,  and  getting  himself 
used  to  it,  it  offered  less  and  less  obstruction  to  the  routine 
of  his  days,  and  uniformity  of  his  feelings. 

He  bowed  to  the  will  of  Heaven,  and  addressed  himself 
with  firmness  and  sobriety  to  the  days  of  the  years  of  his 
pilgrimage.  He  read  his  Bible  more  diligently,  —  not  to 
repine  with  Job,  but  to  invigorate  himself  on  Paul,  and 
especially  to    imitate  his  Master,   who  went  about  doing 


There  were  moments  when  he  would  abandon  the  city, 
and  retire  to  the  country,  returning  to  the  house  of  his 
father,  or  wedding  the  shadows  of  his  heart  to  the  evening 
of  the  days  of  Junia.  But  his  business  was  extensive,  and 
its  concerns  complicated,  and  it  involved  the  interest  of  par- 
ties very  dear  to  him. 

While  he  would  utterly  banish  Melicent  from  his  thoughts, 


RICHARD   EDNEY,    ETC.  413 

we  may  suppose  he  did  it  somewhat  like  the  poet  in  Gil 
Bias,  who,  having  resolved  to  abandon  his  art,  bade  an  eter- 
nal adieu  to  the  Muses,  in  verse  ! 

Did  he  never  complain  ?  Did  no  discontent  overhang  his 
brow  ?     Did  no  imprecation  attempt  the  purity  of  his  lip  ? 

There  is  no  trial  so  severe  as  that  of  the  heart.  There 
is  no  furnace  of  affliction  so  hot  as  that  enkindled  in  the 
sensibilities.  There  is  no  temptation  from  which  a  man 
had  better  pray  for  quick  deliverance  than  that  addressed  to 
the  affections  and  sentiments. 

The  fowls  were  a  fortunate  affair.  They  supplied  his 
purse  with  cash,  and  his  leisure  with  amusement.  The 
crowing  of  the  cocks  set  Memmy  and  Bebby  to  cackling,  and 
Uncle  must  of  course  pipe  up  a  little,  too. 

The  ancient  Church  used  to  clothe  its  penitents  in  white 
sheets.  Richard  seemed  to  belong  to  this  class,  for  Roxy 
declared  his  face  was  white  as  a  sheet ;  but  Aunt  Grint, 
more  lenient  than  those  priests  who  ordered  hair-shirts  in 
addition,  recommended  the  extract  of  valerian,  under  which 
he  visibly  amended. 

And  if  still  in  any  sense  outside  of  the  Church,  he  was 
willing  to  serve  it  in  the  humble  capacity  of  verger ;  and  he 
sought  to  get  his  Ragged  children  into  some  of  the  meet- 
ings. At  least,  he  raised  them  to  the  Griped  Hand,  which 
was  a  stepping-stone  to  the  Church.  Chuk  improved  in 
manners  and  speech,  and  suffered  Mysie  to  comb  his  hair 
and  wash  his  clothes. 

The  golden  apples  which  Hercules  took  from  the  garden 
of  the  Hesperides  could  not  be  kept  anywhere  else,  and  had 
to  be  conveyed  back  where  they  grew.  Men  may  say  what 
they  will  about  the  cultivation  of  virtue  outside  the  Church, 
there  will  always  be  a  sighing  and  pining  of  these  virtues 
for  the  Church  —  the  true  Church.  Richard  especially,  as 
35* 


414  RICHARD    EDNEY   AND 

he  seemed  to  have  derived  the  seeds  of  the  good  he  was  able 
to  effect  from  the  Church,  was  most  happy  in  being  permit- 
ted to  return  thither  sonie  of  the  fruit.  In  truth,  are  not  all 
ragamuffins,  gamins,  sneaks,  trulls,  topers,  Golden  Apples, 
that  at  some  period  or  other  have  been  stolen  from  the 
Church? 

Richard's  old  pupils  of  the  Sabbath-school  visited  him, 
and  he  took  them  to  see  his  "  Olive-garden,"  and  they 
assisted  him  in  cultivating  it.  They  brought  their  little 
library-books,  full  of  pictures  and  pretty  ideas,  and  gave 
them  to  these  outcasts.  They  invited  them  to  their  pic- 
nics and  rural  celebrations,  and  their  mothers  and  aunts 
made  decent  clothes  for  them.  These  Sabbath-school  boys 
led  Chuk  to  the  Griped  Hand!  This  was  considered  a 
great  exploit,  —  a  crowning  triumph. 

Dr.  Broadwell  and  Parson  Smith  honored  Richard  with  a 
visit.  These  gentlemen,  while  they  supposed  Richard  essen- 
tially culpable,  relied  on  his  judgment  and  discretion,  and 
could  not  question  his  good  intentions.  Parson  Smith, 
indeed,  had  frequently  seen  Richard,  and  believing  in  the 
soundness  of  his  piety  and  purity  of  his  aims,  notwithstanding 
the  darkness  that  shrouded  portions  of  his  history,  and  see- 
ing, as  he  thought,  every  token  of  contrition,  was  unwilling 
that  his  relations  to  the  Church  and  Christian  people  should 
materially  change.  If  he  were  a  sinner  before  God,  the 
Parson  argued,  he  had  better  keep  within  reach  of  the 
appointed  means  of  grace. 

They  called  to  converse  with  Richard  on  the  Theatre^ 
circuses,  and  similar  things,  that  were  the  pests  of  recrea- 
tion, and  corrupted  the  proper  pastime  of  the  people.  The 
discussion  was  harmonious  and  interesting.  To  concen- 
trate on  the  Griped  Hand,  and  make  that  attractive  to  Lei- 
sure and  Weariness,  to  Ignorance  and  Grossness,  and  the 


THE    governor's    FAMILY.  415 

varied  desultory  thirsts  and  instincts  of  men,  was  a  foregone 
conclusion.  But  could  it  have  a  kind  of  municipal  prerog- 
ative,—  would  the  city  confer  upon  the  Rectors  of  that  insti- 
tution a  licensing  power,  and  compel  the  wandering  disciples 
of  Thespis,  and  rude  children  of  the  Centaurs,  to  submit  to 
their  arbitration,  —  a  point  would  be  gained.  So  these 
Churchmen  thought,  and  Richard  with  them. 

Both  these  divines,  in  conversation  with  Richard,  wholly 
forgot  that  Richard  was  a  bad  man.  The  exercise  of  the 
mind  on  any  good  object  is  wont  to  give  a  turn  of  goodness 
to  the  mind.  Moreover,  Parson  Smith  theorized  that  bad 
men  might  have  some  good  qualities,  and  Dr.  Broadwell 
practised  on  the  Parson's  theory; — thus  the  working  meth- 
ods of  these  two  men  were  identical.  It  was  a  favorite 
notion  with  the  Parson,  that  you  had  better  shake  hands  with 
a  man's  virtues,  than  kick  at  his  vices.  He  was  known 
once  to  have  said  he  would  sooner  take  virtue  from  the 
devil's  back,  than  see  it  sprawling  under  his  belly. 

Some  called  this  smooth  preaching.  "  There  are  different 
kinds  of  smoothness,"  he  replied.  "  There  is  the  smooth- 
ing quality  of  the  laundress'  iron,  the  carpenter's  plane, 
and  the  farmer's  roller ;  there  is  a  smooth  road,  and  a 
smooth  skin ;  there  is  the  smoothness  of  silk  and  of  liquor. 
If  we  can  iron  down  some  of  the  wrinkles  in  human  soci- 
ety, —  it  is  already  well  starched,  —  or  joint  religion  and 
life,  or  roll  the  fields  we  sow,  that  they  may  stand  a  drought, 
and  the  Church  be  saved  from  dulling  her  scythe  on  stones, 
when  she  mows,  —  it  were  smooth  preaching  something 
yrorth." 

Richard  was  an  atom  distressed  by  a  letter  from  Junia,  in 
which,  after  announcing  the  death  of  her  grandfather,  she 
says,  "  I  am  going  to  Woodylin.  I  long  to  be  where  Violet 
is  buried  and  Richard  suffers.  My  father's  earnest,  beauti- 
ful soul  urges  me.     My  mother's  image,  as  an  enmarbled 


416  RICHARD    EDNEY,    ETC. 

pale  reminiscence,  in  the  shadows  of  the  past,  smiles  upon 
me.  Grandfather  heard  in  the  trees  the  same  bird  that 
foreshadowed  the  death  of  Violet,  and  looking  at  me,  he  said 
its  note  was  Wood-y-lin !  I  tremble  for  thy  misery,  good, 
kind  one  !  Have  I  not  caused  it  all  ?  Let  me,  if  I  cannot 
remove  it,  be  where  it  is.  Be  not  troubled  for  my  coming. 
My  excellent  uncle  consents  to  the  journey.  My  cousin  will 
convey  me  to  the  stage  road.  Winkle  will  take  care  of 
me  then." 

Richard  replied,  begging  her  not  to  come.  Her  presence, 
while  it  would  rejoice  him,  would  do  his  cause  no  good  ;  — 
that  was  past  attempt,  or  hope.  Her  health,  he  said,  would 
be  endangered.  She  would  be  among  strangers,  without  a 
home,  or  comforts,  or  friends,  like  her  uncle's. 

She  rejoined,  "  Leave  me  to  my  resolution  and  my  love. 
Give  me  the  ministry  of  your  smile  and  gladness,  for  one 
day.  Conduct  me  to  the  spot  where  Violet  lies,  and,  with 
thy  arm  to  lean  upon,  and  the  beauty  of  Rosemary  Dell 
about  me,  I  shall  go  cheerfully  to  my  final  rest." 

Richard  gave  instructions  to  Winkle,  —  who  was  on  the 
alert  for  whatever  was  pathetic,  as  well  as  prompt  in  what 
was  purely  commercial,  on  his  route,  —  to  be  mindful  of 
Junia,  and  bring  her  safely. 

But  Winkle  could  manage  better  than  Richard.  "  Let 
herwait  another  week,  and  that  will  be,  he  said,  a  full  week; 
and  Mr.  St.  John  will  have  to  fit  out  an  extra,  and  it  shall 
be  the  pleasant  little  invalid  hack,  and  Simon,  the  pleasant 
little  invalid  hack-dri^'er,  shall  drive  it ;  for  Mr.  St.  John 
owes  it  to  the  route,  ever  since  he  lost  his  bet  on  Tunny's 
head  ;  and  Munk  will  not  object.  I  always  told  them,  if  we 
only  had  a  sick  people's  carriage,  and  a  carriage  with  blinds 
for  lovers,  and  Simon,  with  his  pleasant  way  of  singing,  to 
drive  it,  we  should  do  a  swimming  business.  Did  you  ever 
drive  lovers  ?     It 's  rich,  driving  them  for  nothing !  " 


CHAPTER    XLIII. 

AN    UNEXPECTED   VISITER    ACTUALLY    COMES. 

A  VIOLENT  thumping  was  heard  at  the  door  of  Willow 
Croft,  which,  before  it  could  be  properly  noticed,  answered 
itself,  and  burst  into  the  house  in  the  obese  and  burly  shape 
of  Climper,  of  Climper's,  or  rather  of  Merrywater.  He  had 
on  a  farmer's  frock,  and  brandished  a  large  whip  in  his  hand. 
"  I  am  an  odd  fish,"  he  said ;  "  I  know  I  am.  People  abuse 
me,  and  I  let  them  alone  ;  —  that  is  odd.  They  are  kind  to 
me,  and  I  am  kind  to  them ;  — that  is  odd.  They  won't  be 
happy,  and  I  make  them  happy;  — that,  again,  is  odd.  Out 
of  this,"  — he  touched  Richard  with  his  whip,  —  "  no  more 
sulking  !  You  would  n't  dance  with  Mrs.  Melbourne,  and  I 
made  you ;  and  she  likes  it,  and  has  had  some  more  of  it, 
and  I  mean  she  shall  have  more  yet.  I  love  to  please  peo- 
ple.    Forward !  " 

This  was  concise  and  forcible,  —  rather  too  much  so  for 
Richard,  in  his  present  weak  state.  He  would  fain  have  an 
explanation.  The  commentary  was  as  obscure  as  the  text. 
But  Richard  learned  as  much  as  this,  —  that  Climper  liked 
Richard  and  the  Governor's  Family ;  —  there  may  have  been 
cause  from  the  fact  that  the  Governor  and  his  Family,  and  the 
coaches  belonging  to  Munk,  Richard's  brother-in-law,  often 
visited  Merry  water,  and  were  profitable  customers  of  Climper; 
—  that  he  had  heard  of  the  rupture  between  them,  and  pos- 
sessed, as  he  imagined,  a  clue  to  the  origin  of  it  in  Clover. 
This  fellow  had  been  at  Merrywater  with  Miss  Eyre,  Once, 
being  out  with  them  on  the  pond,  and  drowsily  tending  the 


418  RICHARD   EDNEY    AND 

tiller,  and,  as  they  thought,  sleepmg,  he  overheard  Clover 
urging  Miss  Eyre  to  the-  assault  of  Eichard,  and  particu- 
larly suggesting  the  method  of  approach,  through  Mrs.  INIel- 
bourne.  He  thought  little  of  it  at  the  time,  —  believed  Rich- 
ard could  take  care  of  himself.  But  a  party,  comprising 
Captain  Creamer,  Mangil,  Helen  the  Good,  and  Miss  Free- 
ling,  being  at  his  house,  told  him  of  the  disastrous  and  irre- 
trievable result.  This  man  cherished,  moreover,  a  particu- 
lar disrelish  for  Clover,  who  ran  up  bills  at  Merrywater 
v\rhich  he  never  paid,  and  plagued  Climper  by  a  little  yelp- 
ing terrier  that  he  took  with  him.  Coming  to  Woodylin 
with  a  load  of  vegetables  for  the  Market,  he  went  to  Wil- 
low Croft  with  purposes  that  he  whimsically  and  character- 
istically unfolded. 

He  would  lead  Richard  to  the  Governor's.  Richard  drew 
back.  "  That 's  pleasant,"  said  he.  "  I  like  opposition.  It 
stimulates  me.  Forward  !  I  '11  cry  fire,  if  you  wish  it,  and 
raise  the  neighbors.  Shall  I  run  off  with  one  of  the  chil- 
dren ?  Shall  I  go  and  let  your  hens  out  of  the  coop  ?  Shall 
I  get  the  city  crier  to  ring  your  dumpishness  through  the 
streets,  —  or  you  will  not  start?  He  laid  his  hand  on 
Richard's  collar.  The  children  clung  to  their  mother,  who 
was  herself  alarmed.  "  I  am  not  much  used  to  women  and 
children,"  he  said.  "  They  are  flesh,  I  suppose  ;  and  all 
flesh  is  vanity.  If  Richard  knew  this,  he  would  be  wiser 
than  he  is  now.     We  must  teach  him." 

At  this  instant.  Aunt  Grint  entered  the  room,  in  one  of 
her  panics,  though  of  a  pleasanter  sort  than  usual.  "  What 
is  it  ? "  she  exclaimed.  "  We  heard  crickets  as  lively  as 
could  be  !  I  could  n't  stop.  I  told  Sally  to  mind  the  pot, 
and  I  'd  run  out,  and  see." 

"  We  want  this  fellow  to  go  to  the  Governor's,"  replied 
Climper,  "  and  he  is  n't  willing.  It 's  a  dreadful  cross,  but 
he  must  bear  it." 


THE    governor's    FAMILY.  419 

"  That 's  it !  "  echoed  the  old  woman.  "  I  knew  it  was 
something  pleasant.  I  could  n't  stay  to  put  up  the  dishes, 
but  come  right  out  in  the  suds  as  I  was.     He  shall  go." 

If  Climper  pulled  at  Richard's  collar,  Aunt  Grint  seemed 
to  drub  his  shoulders. 

Resistance  was  unavailing  against  this  novel  pertinac- 
ity. Richard  took  his  hat,  and  went  with  Climper.  Re- 
luctantly, and  with  a  shudder  of  trepidation,  he  allowed 
himself  to  be  taken  to  and  through  the  Governor's  gate,  and 
across  the  yard,  and  up  the  piazza,  and  face  to  face  with  the 
great  front-door.  He  must  endure  the  heavy  tramp  of  his 
companion  where  he  wished  himself  all  cat's-paws,  and  his 
violent  ringing  of  the  bell  when  there  was  not  strength 
enough  in  his  own  arm  to  shake  a  cob-web.  Climper  asked 
for  Mrs.  Melbourne,  and  they  were  taken  to  the  drawing- 
room,  Mrs.  Melbourne  appeared.  She  was  formal  and 
reserved.  She  did  not  know  to  what  she  owed  the  honor  of 
the  visit  or  the  company.  "  To  the  pleasure  I  have  in  com- 
ing to  see  you,"  replied  Climper,, —  "  the  same  as  people 
come  to  see  me,"  "  People  often  behave  very  rudely  at  your 
house,"  replied  Mrs.  Melbourne,  "  I  know  they  do,"  re- 
joined Climper,  "  and  that  is  what  has  brought  me  here. 
This  young  man  — " 

"  I  thought  you  would  reler  to  his  conduct,"  interrupted 
the  lady ;  "  but  you  need  not.  We  are  too  well  informed. 
We  (Jo  not  wish  the  subject  broached  in  this  way,  Mr. 
Climper." 

"  There  are  some  things  you  would  be  glad  to  know." 

"  Nothing,  —  nothing," 

"  There  are  some  things  I  should  like  to  tell  you,  I  am 
an  odd  man,  —  very  odd;  I  love  to  tell  the  truth." 

"  If  anything  more  is  to  be  said,  I  must  call  witnesses,  I 
am  disinclined  to  personal  communications  relating  to  Mr. 
Edaey," 


420  RICHARD    EDNEY   AKD 

She  left  the  room  firmly,  and  returned  with  Miss  Row- 
ena,  Barbara,  and  Glendar, — a  formidable  troop,  that 
would  have  abashed  anybody  but  Climper.  Cousin  took  a 
seat  on  the  sofa  by  Richard.  Barbara  posted  herself  behind 
the  centre-table,  where  she  thrust  one  hand  into  a  book,  as 
if  she  would  let  agitation  discharge  at  the  ends  of  her  fin- 
gers into  its  leaves.  Glendar  sat  very  stiffly  in  a  chair,  with 
his  hand  in  his  vest.  It  fell  to  Mrs.  Melbourne  to  face  the 
occasion,  and  support  its  dignity. 

Climper,  in  his  way,  related  the  plot  Clover  had  concerted 
against  the  peace  of  Richard  and  the  Family. 

"  I  know  nothing  of  Clover,  —  neither  do  I  desire  to," 
interposed  Mrs.  Melbourne. 

"  Perhaps  you  do  not,"  rejoined  Climper.  "  I  always  go 
against  people's  feelings,  you  say.  I  cannot  stop  that  now; 
—  you  must  know  about  him." 

"  You  will  not  insult  my  Aunt,"  said  Glendar. 

"  Nor  you  either,  so  long  as  you  run  up  bills  at  Merry- 
water,  which  I  suppose  your  Aunt  is  to  pay." 

Glendar  grew  more  stiff  in  his  chair,  and  seemed  with  the 
hand  in  his  vest  to  be  clutching  at  his  heart.  Mrs.  Mel- 
bourne looked  angrily  at  Climper,  and  worriedly  at  her 
nephew.     Cousin  bit  her  lip  very  hard. 

"  There  is  nothing  frightful  in  Clover."  Mrs.  Melbourne 
tried  to  laugh  the  matter  off".  Climper  laughed  harder,  and 
added,  "  You  are  right.     I  have  got  my  heel  upon  him." 

"  He  is  not  a  brute."  This  was  a  fling  at  Climper  him- 
self. 

"  He  loves  dogs,  and  is  a  dog  !  " 

"  He  is  n't  Miss  Eyre  ;  —  you  must  know  he  is  n't,  Mr. 
Climper;   and  that  is  where  wickedness  lies." 

Barbara  trembled,  and  Richard,  too. 

"  I  have  told  you  the  truth  about  him,'"  continued  Clim- 
per ;  "and  whether  he  is  Miss  Eyre  or  not,  you  can  see.     I 


THE  governor's  FAMILY.  421 

rather  guess  Miss  Eyre  is  n't  him,  and  is  somebody  else,  and 
you  would  do  well  to  think  so.  He  is  a  villain  ;  and  if  she 
is  n't  him,  perhaps  she  is  n't  a  villain.  Think  of  that.  It 
may  do  you  all  good  to  think  of  that.  And  I  mean  some- 
body shall  think  of  that.  If  you  do  not,  and  Miss  Melicent 
would  come  in,  I  would  make  her  think  of  it." 

This  allusion  to  Melicent  brought  Glendar  to  his  feet,  but 
it  did  not  anybody  else.  Spending  himself  in  an  effort  to 
stand,  tired,  the  young  man  left  the  room,  and  was  speedily 
followed  by  his  indignant  Aunt. 

Climper  said,  "  My  business  was  with  Mrs.  Melbourne, 
and  I  will  go,"  —  and  took  his  leave. 

No  sooner  was  he  out  of  the  house  than  Mrs.  Melbourne 
returned,  in  haste,  and  flushed. 

"  We  have  been  abused  by  that  man.  He  was  always  a 
brute  !  "  she  said. 

"You  are  very  kind  to  the  brute  creation,  Mrs.  Mel- 
bourne," said  Cousin,  softly. 

This  was  better  said  than  received.  It  raised  a  storm,  in 
which  Richard  would  fain  have  got  away. 

"  All  this  is  nothing  to  the  point,"  said  Mrs.  Melbourne. 
"  You  must  see  that  it  is  n't,  Rowena."  She  did  not  deign 
to  address  Richard. 

"  If  it 's  Clover's  doings  — "  Cousin  Rowena  began  to  say. 

"  'T  is  somebody's  else  doings  !  "  Mrs.  Melbourne  said 
this  with  a  tone  so  terrible,  and  a  look  so  scathing,  Richard 
could  not  contain  himself,  and  quite  abruptly  left  the  house. 

He  did,  however,  hear  other  words  which  Mrs.  Melbourne 
uttered,  with  a  loud  and  almost  tragic  emphasis  — 

"  You  must  see,  Barbara,  that  Clover's  agency  don't  alter 
Miss  Eyre's  wrongs,  nor  that  fellow's  baseness  !  " 

These  words,  and  the  ring  of  the  voice,  adhered  to  Rich- 
ard all  the  way  home. 
36 


CHAPTER     XLIV. 

JUNLA.   FULFILS    HER    INTENTION. 

She  came  to  the  relief  of  Richard's  spirits,  and,  as  it 
were,  to  the  care  of  his  hands ;  and  in  the  last,  perhaps, 
carried  out  the  idea  of  the  first,  since  a  little  outward  over- 
sight of  this  sort,  and  secular  responsibility,  could  do  him 
no  harm. 

Simon  brought  her  in  the  best  manner  Winkle  could 
devise.  She  entered  softly  and  quietly,  with  an  air  of  lofty 
purpose,  united  to  a  sense  of  delicate  position  ;  her  face 
was  not  so  much  sickly  pale,  as  subdued  by  spiritual  con- 
cern ;  her  voice  was  sweet,  but  evening-like ;  her  eye  was 
mellow  with  love  and  enthusiasm.  She  kissed  Roxy  and 
the  children. 

After  tea,  she  sat  in  the  rocking-chair  in  the  parlor. 
Junia  had  a  more  southern  cast  than  Violet ;  she  was  born, 
her  Grandfather  used  to  say,  in  a  warmer  month.  She  had 
dark  eyes,  and  small  and  firm  lips.  The  twilight,  —  that 
blush  with  which  Night  introduces  her  starry  train  to  the 
world,  —  from  over  dun  hills,  crossing  silent  hollows  and 
entering  the  room  through  the  cool  trees  Richard  had 
planted  in  the  yard,  —  was  reflected  in  the  pure  and  exalted 
fervor  of  her  countenance.  Was  she,  as  one  of  the  clouds 
that  floated  in  that  burning  expanse,  turned  for  a  brief 
moment  to  flesh  ?  Was  she  a  Daughter  of  God,  ready  to 
be  offered  on  some  altar  of  human  sorrow?  Her  thin 
fingers,  the  delicacy  of  her  frame,  and  even  the  sculptured 
precision  of  her  features,  indicated,  that  if  of  mortal  essence, 


RICHARD    EDNEY,    ETC.  423 

purged  of  mortal  defilement,  she  was  even  then  undergoing 
translation. 

"  I  have  but  one  duty  in  life,  Eichard,"  she  said,  "  and 
that  is  to  thee ;  my  next  is  to  join  the  Immortals.  The 
recompense  and  fulfilment  of  my  love,  that  has  been  grow- 
ing in  the  lonely  places  of  thought,  like  the  pitcher-plant, 
and  filling  its  cup  with  the  dew  and  rain  of  an  ideal  good, 
is  to  pour  its  contents  on  your  parched  life,  and  to  see  thee 
blessed,  thou  greatly  noble,  and  greatly  wronged  one  !  " 

Almost  as  if  she  were  divinely  inspired,  Richard  was 
subdued  before  Junia,  and  ventured  no  remonstrance  to  the 
course  of  her  inclinations. 

She  had  changed  since  he  saw  her ;  she  was  feebler,  but 
more  resolved,  —  less  unreserved  in  her  love,  but  more  self- 
forgetful  in  its  intents,  —  very  cheerful  and  very  serious. 

In  two  or  three  days,  having  worn  off  the  fatigue  of 
her  journey,  she  expressed  a  desire  to  visit  the  grave  ef 
Violet. 

Simon,  wlio  had  risen  from  stable-boy  to  hack-driA-er,  who 
loved  to  serve  Richard,  and  continued  to  sing,  with  new 
pathos  to  Richard's  ear,  that  melancholy  refrain,  like  a  frag- 
ment from  the  ruin  of  some  old  dirge  which  he  carried  about 
wdth  him,  was  ordered  to  bring  up  the  invalid  coach. 

Junia  entered  the  parlor  from  her  chamber,  clad  in  white  ; 
her  dress  and  gloves  were  white,  and  a  white  rose-bud 
adorned  her  hair.  There  was  a  singularly  clear  and  lumin- 
ous effect  in  her  person  and  attire  ;  throughout,  an  unusual 
carefulness  showed,  and  her  appearance  was  suggestive 
almost  of  a  bridal  occasion, — an  illusion  which  the  pallid 
ardor  of  her  look  rather  heightened  than  destroyed.  Fair  to 
the  senses,  her  aspect  was  still  more  affecting  to  the  imag- 
ination ;  and  Richard,  sacredly  moved,  drew  from  under  his 


424  RICHARD   EDNEY   AND 

vest,  where  he  had  so  sadly  worn  it,  the  small  golden  cross, 
which  he  reverently  hung  on  her  neck. 

Simon's  song  was  heard  at  the  gate,  and  Junia,  throwing 
on  her  bonnet  and  shawl,  left  the  house.  Richard  would 
have  done  more  than  hand  her  into  the  carriage,  —  he  would 
go  with  her;  but  she  said,  "  Not  now."  He  could  do  little 
else  than  listen  to  the  wailing  cavatina  of  the  boy,  as  he 
drove  off  with  the  precious  minister  to  his  peace. 

She  was  driven  to  Rosemary  Dell.  Under  the  shadows 
of  pines,  and  along  circling  walks,  she  wended  her  way  to 
the  spot  where  Violet  lay.  A  willow  hung  over  the  enclos- 
ure ;  and  those  flowers  that  gave  the  sleeper  her  name,  in 
lowly  beauty  —  little  Vestal-fires  of  Nature  —  cherished 
the  sanctity  of  her  grave.  Junia  leaned  upon  the  willow, 
and  wept ;  in  weeping  she  vented  her  sisterly  sorrow,  and 
at  the  same  time,  as  it  were,  moistened  and  bedewed  the 
springs  of  her  own  feeling.  What  went  forth  in  sadness, 
like  the  exlialation  of  troubled  water,  returned  in  gentle 
showers  of  consolation  and  gladness  to  the  wasting  verdure 
of  her  soul.  "  Soon,  soon,"  she  said,  "  I  shall  be  with  you, 
thou  blessed  one  !  I  thank  thee  that  I  can  weep  for  thee,  — 
I  feel  how  nearly  I  am  at  one  with  thee !  A  mission  which 
thou  wouldst  bless,  for  the  friend  of  us  both,  and  for  one 
whom,  oh  my  sister,  thou  couldst  have  loved,  —  an  injured 
one  of  earth,  —  is  the  brief  distance  I  must  travel,  before  I 
come  to  thee,  — and  to  you.  Father,  Mother,  —  and  to  Thee, 
oh  Saviour  of  men  !  " 

Having  finished  her  prayer,  she  returned  to  the  carriage. 

Did  she  perceive  that  Miss  Eyre  was  in  the  cemetery, 
alone,  and  apparently  thoughtful  and  pensive,  —  like  some 
penitent  Spirit  of  Evil,  meditating  among  those  vestiges  of 
decay  ?  She  was  there ;  and  with  steadfast  eye,  —  nor  could 
it  be  otherwise  than  with  deep  sensitiveness  of  heart,  — 


THK    GOVEKNOR's    FAMILY.  425 

behind  contiguous  shrubbery,  she  beheld  the  emotion  of 
Junia.  She  followed  her  as  she  left  the  place,  and  over- 
heard her  direction  to  Simon,  to  Governor  Bennington's. 

We  shall  take  the  liberty  to  enter  with  Junia  at  the 
Governor's,  and  while  she  waits  reception,  look  at  the  state 
of  feeling  the  Family  is  in. 

Miss  Eyre  had  been  summoned  as  a  rejoinder  to  Climper. 
She  denied  Clover's  complicity  with  her  afiixirs  ;  —  this  to 
Mrs.  Melbourne.  But  to  Miss  Rowena,  who  questioned  her 
more  at  length,  she  admitted,  not  that  her  wrongs  were  less, 
but  that,  her  delicacy  being  greater,  Clover  appeared,  and 
not  only  recommended,  but  potentially  and  portentously 
urged  her  to  the  course  she  had  taken.  Herein  she  spoke 
absolute  truth. 

The  Family,  then,  we  cannot  say  were  in  a  stale  of 
doubt,  but  in  a  state  of  certainty,  with  its  surface  somewhat 
ruffled.  Mrs.  Melbourne,  however,  was  ruffled  painfully,  — 
Cousin  Rowena  pleasantly.  The  latter  rejoiced  in  the 
agitation  Climper  had  given  the  Family,  and  was  glad 
to  feel  anything  like  a  disturbance  in  the  career  of  those 
terrible  convictions  down  which  she  was  rapidly  tending. 
Melicent,  about  whom  all  the  interest  and  all  the  moods  of 
the  Family  gravitated,  must  listen  to  varied  accounts,  and 
be  torn  by  contending  emotions. 

Miss  Eyre  having  become  domiciled  equally  in  Mrs. 
Melbourne's  heart  and  rooms,  by  a  side  door,  entered  the 
house  soon  after  Junia,  and  went  to  the  chamber  of  her 
friend. 

Junia  inquired  for  Melicent,  whom  she  had  seen  in 
Violet's  sickness.  Melicent  did  not  recollect  Junia.  She 
extended  her  hand  to  the  pale  figure  before  her,  whose  min- 
gled look  of  anxiety  and  earnestness,  as  well  as  the  shadowy 
features  and  pure  attire,  arrested  her  attention  and  kindled 
36*= 


426  RICHARD    EDNEY    AND 

her  fancy.  "  I  am  Junia,"  said  the  latter.  "  When  Violet 
was  sick,  you  were  with  us ;  you  laid  flowers  on  her  bier." 

Melicent,  moved  by  this  recall  of  the  past,  and  the  vision 
of  the  present,  affectionately  saluted  her. 

"  I  wish  to  speak  of  Richard."  Junia  said  this  with  an 
emphasis  that  quite  thrilled  Melicent,  who,  at  once  surprised 
and  awed,  echoed,  "  Richard ! "  In  a  moment,  collecting 
herself,  she  said,  "  If  of  that,  come  to  my  chamber,"  — 
whither  they  went. 

"  I  came,"  said  Junia,  when  they  were  seated,  "  to  inter- 
cede for  Richard.  I  know  him  to  be  pure  and  good.  I 
have  long  known  him  so.  And  you,  Melicent, -;— you  have 
known  him  so.  Your  heart,  your  memory,  your  reason, 
remind  you  of  nothing  else." 

Melicent  became  pale, — paler,  even,  than  the  speaker 
before  her. 

"  Do  not  think  of  that,  —  do  not  confuse  yourself  with 
it  at  all,"  continued  Junia.  "  He  has  erred,  —  he  may  have 
sinned ;  but  his  sin  is  not  beyond  forgiveness  or  removal. 
It  is  lost  in  the  depth  of  his  piety,  —  it  is  swept  away  by 
his  virtues,  as  a  leaf  on  the  river." 

"  I  do  not  think  of  that,"  answered  Melicent,  strongly 
agitated  ;  "  I  think  beyond  that,  of  him." 

"  And  he  loves  you  ! " 

"  Loves  me  ? "  cried  Melicent. 

"Loves  you,"  replied  Junia,  "with  unmixed,  unchanging 
love,  —  loves  as  purely  as  an  angel  in  heaven  might  love." 

"  How  can  you  know  that  ?  —  alas  !  alas  !  " 

"I  know  him,"  replied  Junia;  "how,  I  cannot  tell,  —  I 
dare  not  tell.  I  know  him,  as  your  own  heart  knows  him ; 
—  and  tell  me,  do  you  love  him  ?" 

"  Ah  ! "  cried  Melicent ;  "  where  is  that  in  my  deepest 


THE    governor's    FAmLY.  427 

heart  which  I  once  was,  and  worshipped,  and  lost,  and 
missed  ? " 

"  I  recall  it,"  said  Junia  ;  "  I  bring  it  back." 

"  To  have  once  doubted,"  said  Melicent,  "  not  that,  for 
that  might  be;  but  to  doubt  him,  to  fear  him;  to  feel  the 
approach  of  vague,  invisible  possibilities,  which  smite  and 
stagger  you,  when  you  can  do  nothing ;  to  have  the  venom- 
ous, bitter  uncertainties  of  things,  like  reptiles  from  the  Dark 
Mountains,  get  into  your  heart,  and  be  shut  in  there,  — 
there,  where  a  woman's  longing,  and  hope,  and  ideal,  are  all 
kept;  to  be  once  so  disturbed  and  so  sickened  ;  —  oh,  what 
is  wom.an  ?     What  are  you  ?     What  am  I  ? " 

"  Hear  me,"  said  Junia ;  "  listen  to  me.  I  speak  as  a 
woman." 

"A  Great  Evil,"  rejoined  Melicent,  "has  befallen  me; 
the  Good  Father  knows  why.  Its  terror  chills  my  frame ; 
its  darkness  obscures  my  thought.  O,  Parent  of  the  Uni- 
verse, teach  thy  child  submission,  —  guide  her  heart !  " 
She  started  from  her  chair,  and  with  mingled  despair, 
mournfulness,  and  hope,  walked  the  room,  wringing  her 
hands  wildly.  She  flung  herself  on  a  seat  in  the  embrasure 
of  the  window,  where  the  heavy  tapestry  concealed  her  face, 
but  could  not  hide  the  voice  of  her  anguish. 

Junia  rose,  and  deliberately  laid  off  her  bonnet  and  shawl. 
She  approached  Melicent,  and  solemnly  knelt  at  her  feet. 
As  if  a  flash  of  pathos,  inspired  by  piety,  had  knelt  before  her, 
the  white  array,  ghostly  complexion,  and  golden  cross  of 
Junia,  mystically  aroused  Melicent. 

"  What  is  this  I  see  ?"  she  exclaimed. 

"  The  lover  and  the  bride  of  Richard,"  calmly  replied 
Junia.     "  Such  I  plead  with  thee  for  him  —  " 

"  What  do  I  hear?''  Melicent  cried,  still  more  excited. 

"  Listen,  oh  best  beloved  of  the  best  beloved  !    I  love 


428  RICHARD   EDNEY    AND 

Richard ;  —  I  loved  him  for  his  greatness  and  his  purity  ;  I 
loved  him  with  the  instinct  of  girlhood,  —  I  have  loved  him 
with  the  meditativeness  of  womanhood.  I  love  you,  oh 
precious  sister  of  my  soul !  because  you  love  him.  I  know 
what  you  feel ;  I  share  your  sufferings.  He,  too,  suffers.  I 
have  been  near  his  heart ;  I  have  heard  its  lonely  anguish ; 
I  have  felt  its  tortured  throbs.  I  love  his  happiness ;  and 
his  happiness  is  your  love ;  and  the  happiness  of  you  both 
is  your  mutual  reiinion.  I  am  his  bride,  but  through  you. 
My  love  for  him  I  give  to  you.  Take  it  into  your  heart,  — 
let  it  be  your  love !  Let  it  survive  in  the  depth  of  your 
affection !  Let  it  shed  its  light  upon  the  darkness  that  sur- 
rounds you  !  And  when,  in  the  rapture  of  being,  you  can  call 
him  your  own,  remember,  oh  remember,  that  one,  young  and 
inexperienced,  —  too  susceptible,  perhaps  too  constant,  —  that 
Junia  loved  him  too  ! " 

"How  can  I  support  this?"  exclaimed  Blelicent.  "In 
what  heavenly  transition  do  I  awake  ?   Art  thou  a  mortal  ?" 

"  I  am  simple  Junia,"  replied  the  other ;  "  but  hear  me  ; 
—  I  am  brided  to  Richard's  and  your  felicitj'-.  I  put  on  this 
little  array,  such  as  a  fond  girl's  heart  might  choose ;  cloth- 
ing not  my  body,  but  an  irrepressible  promise  of  things  in 
my  soul;  clothing,  it  may  be,  some -old,  pleasant  feelings, 
that  once  wished  to  be  the  bride  of  Richard ;  clothing,  too, 
the  brief  remaining  hour  of  my  life  for  marriage  with  the 
ideal  vision  which  your  union  with  him  is  to  my  mind,  — 
the  union  of  Wealth  and  Worth,  —  of  Refinement  and 
Nobleness,  —  of  Richard  and  Melicent ! " 

"  Dearest  Junia  ! "  cried  Melicent ;  "  purest  of  beings  ! 
Let  me  embrace  you,  —  let  me  fold  to  my  heart  its  long-lost 
tranquillity ! " 

"  I  perish,  —  I  die  ! "  answered  Junia.  "  The  voice  of  the 
oriole  has  been  heard.     My  happiness   is  complete  when 


THE    governor's    FAMILY.  429 

yours  begins.  I  am  called  to  the  spirit  land,  —  let  me 
bless  you  and  Richard  ere  I  go  —  " 

Her  voice  faltered ;  blood  on  her  lips  betrayed  the  violent 
hemorrhage  that  succeeded.  She  fainted ;  and  while  Meli- 
cent  was  attempting  to  support  her,  an  outbursting  sob,  as 
of  some  one  in  the  chamber,  was  heard.  It  was  Miss  Eyre, 
who  instantly,  but  trembling  with  emotion,  advanced,  and 
assisted  in  carrying  the  languid  frame  to  the  bed. 

Miss  Eyre  had  followed  Junia,  —  followed  her  with 
more  than  usual  concern,  and  even  approached  the  chamber 
of  Melicent,  where,  moved  by  the  impassioned  language 
within,  she  opened  the  door,  and  beheld  Junia  at  Meliceut's 
feet,  and  heard  her  words. 

She  was  at  least  awed.  Solemn,  tender,  delicate,  she 
exerted  herself  to  bring  back  the  spirit  that  seemed  so  sud- 
denly and  so  affectingly  to  have  vanished. 

Opening  her  eyes,  Junia  said,  "  Ah,  Plumy  Alicia !  and 
you  too,  —  you  to  bless  the  hour,  —  you  to  make  us  all 
happy  ?" 

The  house  was  aroused.  Madam  Dennington,  confined 
to  her  room  by  some  illness  of  the  season,  could  no  more 
than  give  directions  for  the  sick  one.  Miss  Ej-re  sum- 
moned Mrs.  Melbourne,  who  was  always  kind  to  the  unfor- 
tunate, and  who  forgot  everything  else  in  an  occasion  like 
the  present. 

Dr.  Chassford,  the  family  physician,  was  called,  who, 
with  other  specifics,  ordered  quietness  and  rest.  His  man- 
ner showed,  what  all  felt,  that  Junia  could  not  live  long. 

"  I  am  quiet,"  she  said,  a  little  while  afterwards.  "  I 
have  unburdened  my  heart,  and  I  rest." 

But  she  grew  weaker,  and  could  not  be  moved.  "  Send 
word,"  she  said,  "  to  Willow  Croft,  that  1  cannot  return  to- 
day, but  not  to  be  alarmed  for  me." 


CHAPTER    XLV. 


THE    HEART    OF    MISS    EYRE. 


The  immediate  excitement  of  this  casualty  having  sub- 
sided, the  Family  were  left  to  ponder  more  serious  matters 
connected  with  the  visit  of  Junia.  Mrs.  Whichcomb  and  the 
council  were  disposed  of,  —  Clover's  villany  stood  revealed. 
What  remained,  that  Richard  should  not  be  immediately 
summoned,  and  the  reconciliation  celebrated?  Miss  Eyre 
remained,  broodingly,  silently,  awfully.  She  remained 
literally  with  Mrs.  Melbourne,  who  would  not  suffer  her  to 
leave  the  house ;  —  she  remained  mysticallj^  in  all  hearts 
and  apprehensions.  Why  should  not  the  Family  throw 
itself  upon  its  intuitions,  and  act  at  once  in  obedience 
thereto  ?  It  was  not  a  way  it  had,  —  if  we  except  Barbara, 
who  had  such  a  way,  and  put  on  her  hat  to  execute  it.  But 
Roscoe,  who  was  pruning  trees  in  the  front  yard,  prevented 
her;  —  Roscoe,  the  silent  and  unsocial  one,  reputed  so  queer 
and  strange.  "  Plumy  Alicia,"  said  he,  "  has  not  spoken. 
If  Richard  is  recalled,  she  must  be  banished;  his  exonera- 
tion is  her  perdition.  We  must  wait  a  little.  There  are 
things  to  be  explained  yet.  Who  of  us  can  pretend  to 
fathom  all  this  mystery  ? "  Barbara  loved  Roscoe  and 
yielded  to  him. 

Melicent  and  Junia  both  felt,  and  they  all  felt,  what 
Roscoe  expressed.  "  God  will  help  us,  "  said  Junia.  "  Let 
us  wait  on  him."  "  I  can  wait,  if  you  can,"  responded 
Melicent. 


RICHARD    EDNEY,    ETC.  431 

What  would  Miss  Eyre  do  ?  We  have  said  she  betrayed 
extreme  emotion  at  the  sight  of  Junia  and  Melicent.  What 
did  she  see  at  that  moment  ?  She  saw  an  old,  fond  love, 
intent,  not  upon  the  possession  but  the  welfare  of  the 
beloved;  she  saw  hopelessness  pleading  with  aversion  in 
behalf  of  neglect ;  she  saw  virtue  seeking  to  acquit  turpi- 
tude to  conscience  ;  disinterestedness  launched  on  destruction 
to  render  deliverance.  She  saw  Junia  supplicating  Melicent 
for  Richard;  she  saw  woman's  heart  yielding  heroically  to 
rival  supremacy;  she  saw  a  young  girl's  gushing,  undying 
affection,  sacrificing  itself  on  the  altar  of  another's  love. 
She  beheld  cheerfulness  where  she  anticipated  moodiness, 
constancy  where  she  had  prophesied  hatred ;  and  was  the 
witness  of  a  defence  from  a  quarter  which  to  her  oa^ti  mind 
boded  nothing  but  scorn  and  vengeance. 

The  sight  overcame  her ;  it^  novelty,  mystery,  pathos, 
amazed  her ;  its  incantation  spun  through  all  her  frame. 
But  while  it  swept  like  a  wind  across  the  forest  of  her 
sensibilities,  we  are  not  prepared  to  say  it  upturned  a  single 
root  of  her  purpose. 

The  next  day,  being  alone  with  Mrs.  Melbourne,  she 
burst  into  tears. 

"  I  do  not  wonder  )'ou  feel  bad,"  said  her  old  mistress. 
"If  I  were  not  more  than  usually  sustained,  I  should  cry  too. 
What  a  height  of  impudence  and  vulgarity  I  " 

Miss  Eyre  made  no  answer. 

"  Try  the  camphor-bottle  ;  —  oh  dear,  how  wicked  is  man! 
how  unfeeling  are  the  lower  orders  !  That  Richard  would 
kill  you,  if  he  were  left  to  himself  one  moment !  I  have 
seen  him  strike  a  horse  that  was  all  in  a  foam  of  sweat. — 
Open  the  window,  where  you  can  breathe."  This  did  not 
abate  Miss  Eyre's  distress. 

"  I  do  not  blame  you,  Plumy  Alicia,"  continued  her  com- 


432  RICHARD   EDNEY   AND 

forter.  "  I  cannot ;  I  have  it  not  in  my  heart  to  see  the  least 
of  God's  creatures  suffer,  except  some  who  deserve  it. — 
Well,  I  will  not,  —  I  know  you  are  tender  on  that  point. 
Don't  cry  so,  dear  girl !  you  shall  marry  Kichard.  Lie 
on  my  bed,  —  smell  of  this  chamomile.  If  Richard  has 
wronged  you,  and  you  still  love  him,  you  shall  have  him. 
I  know  we  cannot  help  our  feelings.  When  I  was  young — 
oh  God  forgive  me  !  — There,  there ;  I  will  never  speak 
against  Richard  again." 

Miss  Eyre  wept  herself  to  sleep,  and  sank  from  convul- 
sions to  repose. 

Mrs.  Melbourne  smoothed  her  hair  and  dress,  and  sat 
tenderly  by  her  side.  "  I  did  not  know,"  she  said  within 
herself,  "  she  could  feel  so  much.  But  she  shall  not  be  dis- 
appointed. What  could  have  induced  that  country  girl  to 
undertake  such  a  thing?  Why  is  she  sick?  Do  we  not 
see  God's  finger  in  it?  —  That  Glendar  should  be  rejected, 
and  that  bad  man  promoted,  is  impossible." 

When  Miss  Eyre  awoke,  it  was  with  a  manner  apparently 
averted  from  Mrs.  Melbourne  ;  so  much  so  that  this  lady 
regarded  her  with  surprise. 

"  Why  don't  you  speak  ?  "  she  said. 

"  I  can't  to  you,"  replied  Miss  Eyre. 

"  Why  not  to  me  ?  I  am  your  friend.  What  are  you 
going  to  do  ?  "  She  asked  this  with  consternation,  as  Miss 
Eyre,  with  hidden  determination  in  her  eye,  left  the  bed. 

"  To  see  Junia,"  answered  Miss  Eyre. 

"  She  has  told  her  story,"  murmured  Mrs.  Melbourne. 

"  What  if  there  were  some  truth  in  it  ?  "  rejoined  the 
other. 

Mrs.  Melbourne  would  have  screamed ;  but  she  hushed 
herself,  and  said,  "  Plumy  Alicia,  how  rash !  Will  you 
ruin  yourself,  and   disgrace  us  all?    May  she  not  have 


THE    governor's    FAMILY.  433 

deceived  ?  There  is  nothing  too  bad  for  some  people  to  do  ! 
Who  sent  her  here,  —  who  ?  I  wish  the  truth  might  be  told, 
—  all  the  truth,  —  and  I  am  glad  there  area  few  honest 
ears  to  hear  it !  " 

Miss  Eyre  disappeared.  She  went  to  the  bed-side  of 
Junia. 

Junia  looked  up,  with  a  serene,  rill-like  smile,  and  laid 
her  thin,  transparent  hand  outside  the  bed,  as  it  were  invit- 
ing Miss  Eyre's  into  it. 

"  Did  you  love  Richard  ?  "  said  Miss  Eyre. 

"  You  know  I  loved  him,"  replied  Junia. 

"  And  you  gave  him  up  ?  " 

"  God  took  him,  and  gave  him  to  another." 
. "  I   am   not   religious.      Tell    Mrs.    Melbourne  of  that. 
Had  you  no  hatred  to  him  for  leaving  you  ? " 

"  He  never  left  me;  — I  only  clung  to  him." 

"  In  that  clinging,  Junia,  w-as  there  not  joy,  rapture, 
life  ?  " 

"  Alas,  dear  Plumy  Alicia,  yes  !  " 

"  But  you  gave  it  all  up,  and  have  helped  another  one  to 
cling  where  you  were  clinging,  and  to  exult  in  what  was 
your  bliss  ?  " 

"  She  had  a  better  right  than  I.  Besides,  his  happiness 
was  concerned,  and  her  happiness,  and  the  happiness  of  so 
many.  And,  dear  Plumy  Alicia,  I  have  never  been  so  happy 
as  I  am  now ;  —  I  have  done  no  more  than  my  duty,  and 
what  God  would  have  me  do.  You  will  not  make  Richard 
unhappj%  will  you?  You  will  not  do  anything  to  distress 
his  noble  spirit,  will  you  ?  You  have  been  weeping  ;  you 
will  never  weep  again  when  Richard  is  happy ;  —  you  will  be 
happy  too." 

Miss  Eyre  could  not  answer ;    she  meditated. 

Junia  resumed.     "  I  could  not  go  into  the  next  world, — 
37 


434  RICHARD    EDNEY    AND 

and  we  must  all  go  there,  — with  the  sin  of  unkindness  to 
Richard,  and  Melicent,  and  all  these  excellent  ones,  on  my 
soul." 

Miss  Eyre  withdrew  to  the  window,  and  sat  where  Mel- 
icent sat  and  Junia  kneeled. 

The  same  day.  Miss  Rowena  did  slip  away  to  Willow 
Croft,  but  simply  to  tell  them  how  Junia  was,  and  to  tell 
Richard  how  nobly  she  had  vindicated  him.  She  dared 
only  allude  to  Miss  Eyre  ;  and  Richard,  perhaps,  wished 
her  to  do  no  more  than  that.  He  had  himself  a  feeling 
about  Miss  Eyre  which  Miss  Rowena  could  not  fathom. 

Another  night  passed  in  the  Family,  —  a  night  of  thick, 
silent  darkness,  w^hen  the  clouds  seem  to  be  in  the  streets, 
and  walking  about  the  houses,  —  when  the  windows  all 
become  black  mirrors  of  things  in  the  room,  and  if  the 
heart  is  sad,  these  images  look  very  gloomy.  The  whisk- 
ing of  wind  in  the  trees,  or  the  pattering  of  rain  on  the 
piazza,  would  have  been  a  relief.  Mrs.  Melbourne  was  very 
melancholy,  and  Miss  Eyre  very  pale. 

Junia  was  a  little  day-time  in  her  own  heart  and  chamber, 
—  a  pleasant  taper  of  resignation  and  patience ;  and  she 
made  Melicent  and  Barbara,  who  sat  with  her,  feel  hopeful 
and  cheerful. 

The  next  morning,  Miss  Eyre  sought  a  private  moment 
with  Melicent.  She  said,  "  Neither  yoU  nor  I  can  abide 
this  much  longer.  I  do  not  speak.  Do  you  wish  me  to  ? 
Do  you  wish  me  to  open  my  mouth  ?  Do  you  wish  to  look 
through  fair  lips  and  beautiful  teeth  — they  say  I  have 
them, — and  beyond  the  smoothness  of  my  tongue,  into  the 
depths  of  what  I  am,  —  into  here,  —  into  this,  —  which 
they  call  a  heart  ?  " 

"Let  me  see  everything  it  is  in  your  power  to  show,  that 
will  be  of  any  use  to  see,"  replied  Melicent. 


THE  governor's  FAMILY.  436 

"  Under  this  roof,"  continued  Miss  Eyre,  "  that  now 
accuses  me,  derived  I  the  elements  of  my  crime.  Some  of 
them,  —  not  all.  Here  were  sown  the  seeds  of.  the  bitter 
night-shade  you  now  taste  in  me.  Not  you,  gentle,  great 
one  ;  —  not  Barbara  ;  —  not  the  Governor.  Mrs.  Melbourne 
taught  me  the  essential  worthlessness  of  that  large  class  of 
people  among  whom  I  was  born,  and  with  whom  it  might  be 
my  fortune  to  spend  my  days.  Mrs.  Melbourne  is  generous, 
humane,  tender-hearted.  I  am  under  a  thousand  obliga- 
tions to  her  kindness ;  but  she  despises  the  lower  orders,  and 
she  would  have  me  despise,  betray,  disinherit  my  own  kith 
and  kin.  I  was  ambitious,  —  proud,  they  call  it.  What  is 
That  ?  You  know  not.  You  were  born  great.  You  cannot 
step  out  without  stepping  into  littleness.  Then  how  easy, 
how  pleasant,  to  take  a  few  steps  in  that  direction, —  merely 
passing  from  Wilton  carpets  to  dusty  streets, — and  go 
home  to  your  own  greatness  !  But  for  me,  born  little,  to 
step  into  greatness,  —  how  hard,  how  hazardous  !  Then  to 
go  home  to  littleness,  —  to  creep  back,  after  a  pleasant 
exaltation,  into  one's  mean  hovel,  —  you  know  not  what 
that  is ! 

"  Then  there  is  love.  O  burden,  unreilcting  fatality,  or- 
ganic sigh,  of  woman !  But  whom  love  ?  Where  my 
hearth-stone  ?  Who  lie  in  these  arms  ?  You  cannot  under- 
stand this.  You  are  in  a  gallery  of  fine  portraits,  and  can 
take  any  one.  I  am  surrounded  by  daubs,  and  must  hunt 
for  what  is  tolerable.  Have  I  no  desire  for  what  is  excel- 
lent? Pulsates  not  every  fibre  of  this  woman's  frame  for 
the  embrace  of  purity,  elevation,  nobleness  ?  I  saw  Rich- 
ard,—  I  liked  him; — I  tell  you  I  liked  him!  He  united 
the  loftiness  of  the  higher  classes  with  the  solid  virtues  of 
his  own.  I  sprang  towards  him,  in  my  heart,  wantonly 
wildly.     His  reserve  and  moderation  the  rather  inflamed 


436  RICHARD   EDNEY    AND 

me.  I  intrigued,  —  yes,  I  was  trained  to  that.  What  self- 
ishness of  voluptuousness,  what  shallowness  of  mediocrity, 
what  cravings  of  the  hod-clopperhood,  have  importuned  for 
me,  and  sighed  at  my  feet,  and  cajoled  my  vanity  !  I  tor- 
tured him.  The  Redferns  tortured  me,  more  than  you 
know  of,  —  more  than  I  can  relate.  Virtue,  —  I  am  not 
virtuous  !  Is  Mrs.  Melbourne,  who  has  so  perverted  my 
existence,  virtuous  ?  Is  F.iddledeeana  Redfern,  who  has  so 
wounded  every  womanly  sensibility  within  me,  virtuous  ? 
Do  not  look  so  upbraidingly  at  me  !  " 

"  I  do  not  upbraid  you.  I  am  only  deeply  concerned  in 
what  you  say." 

"  Give  me  your  smelling-bottle.  I  am  not  going  to  faint. 
I  want  to  carry  off  my  excitement  with  spirit.  You  cannot 
think  of  my  faults  worse  than  I  suffer  from  them.  I  abhor 
Clover ;  but  he  menaced  me,  —  menaced  not  only  my  happi- 
ness, but  even  my  life.  I  should  support  his  cause,  he 
said,  or  he  would  overrun  me,  — he  would  destroy  me.  He 
would  have  plunged  me  into  the  depths  of  Merrywater. 
Well  if  he  had  !  I  could  not  endure  Richard's  union  with, 
you.  Hear  the  whole,  and  then  do  with  me  as  you  will.  It 
rankled  here.     I  could  not  help  it." 

"  You  mean,"  said  Melicent,  "  you  did  not  help  it.  You 
never  practised  self-control ;  you  had  no  religious  humil- 
ity." 

"  Practised  nothing,  —  had  nothing,  that  you  call  good. 
No,  no!  Little  of  that  has  addressed  itself  to  me.  Good 
men,  —  your  good  men,  —  do  not  speak  to  me;  —  bad 
men  are  false  and  selfish  with  me.  My  regard  for  Rich- 
ard was  the  only  good  thing  of  my  life !  I  believed  he 
loved  me ;  at  least,  I  believed  I  could  make  him  love 
me,  —  that  I  had  made  him  love  me.  Others  managed  for 
my  approbation,  —  why  should  I  not  for  his?     Glendar  has 


THE    governor's    FAMILY.  437 

adored  my  smile,  —  why  should  I  not  fawn  on  Eichard's 
heart  ?  You  are  interested,  —  you  may  well  be.  I  come  to 
the  quick  of  the  thing.  /  have  told  Jio  miti-uths  about  Rich- 
ard .'  —  Do  not  destroy  your  fan;  you  may  be  glad  to  use 
it  before  I  have  done.  —  Have  you  not  learned  that  nobody 
tells  lies  ?     They  tell  truths  so  that  they  shall  seem  a  lie, 

—  that  is  all.  I  let  untruths  be  told ;  —  or  rather,  surrounded 
by  stupidity  and  fanaticism,  I  had  only  to  let  the  false  im- 
pressions of  people  take  their  own  course.  I  gave  to  truth 
a  little  of  the  rouge,  the  twinkle,  the  fine  airs,  of  falsehood, 
and  I  had  no  further  trouble.  I  knew  not  precisely  the  na- 
ture of  his  visits  at  the  sick  chamber  of  Violet ;  nor  did  I 
care  to  know,  —  it  was  little  to  me,  any  way.  •  Mrs.  Which- 
comb  believed,  or  made  herself  believe,  he  had  other  objects 
than  charity ;  and  she  made  more  than  one  bejieve  it,  too. 
The  lower  orders  have  their  faults  and  vices.  They  do  not 
understand  nobleness,  or  intellectuality,  or  cultured  simplic- 
ity and  freedom.  They  misappreciate  you,  Melicent,  and 
your  father,  and  your  church,  and  your  minister,  and  your 
whole  social  circle  and  position.  It  is  not  a  month  since, 
down  on  the  Islands,  I  heard  a  man  say  he  hoped  the  Gov- 
ernor would  come  to  his  last  crust,  —  he  did  not  care  how 
soon  I  How  easy,  then,  to  pervert  a  visit  to  a  sick  chamber ! 
I  knew  Junia  loved  Richard  ;  and  that  I  did  care  to  know. 
I  first  dreaded,  then  hated  her.  And  afterwards,  so  far  as 
his  connection  with  )'ou  was  concerned,  I  thought  she  would 
hate  him.     Here  I  was  mistaken.     Of  that,  presently." 

"  You  acquit  Richard  of  the  aspersions  that  have  been 
thrown  upon  him  ?  "  said  Melicent,  with  some  earnestness. 

"  Do  not  be  impassioned ;  —  that  is  reserved  for  me.  Junia 
disappointed  me  ;  she  appalled  me  ;  she  has  wrung  my  heart, 

—  ^vrung  its  animosity,  its  fire,  its  intention,  all  out  of  it. 
She  is  the  first  gleam  of  light  in  this  dark  world  of  affections 

37* 


438  RICHARD    EDNEY    AND 

and  passions  that  surrounds  me.  As  Clover  says,  she  has 
crushed  me  !  Sorrow,  remorse,  hurtle  pitilessly  through  this 
ruin  of  my  being.  Eichard  is  too  innocent,  -;—  too  harm- 
less. If  he  had  only  been  guilty,  —  not  that,  —  if  he  had 
been  selfish  or  forward,  —  I  should  have  loved  him  more  :  — 
nay,  I  should  have  scorned  him !  He  has  his  weak  points  ; 
and  his  weak  ones  are  my  strong  ones,  and  there  I  should 
have  mastered  him,  but  for  a  something  beyond.  —  What  is 
that  something  ?  " 

"  Eeligion,  —  Conscience,  —  God." 

"  I  did  not  ask  to  be  told  of  that.  I  only  asked  in  a 
reverie  sort  of  way.  Richard  relies  on  the  simplicity  of 
things,  and  what  he  supposes  to  be  the  goodness  of  men. 
He  deceives  himself." 

"  Are  you  never  deceived  ?" 

"  Richard  is  sorry  for  me.  He  knows  I  am  not  exempt 
from  pangs.  He  feels  committed,  not  to  me,  but  to  my  mis- 
ery. You  can  break  a  man's  heart,  sometimes,  by  breaking 
your  own." 

"Angelic  Richard!     Wicked,  wicked  Plumy  Alicia  I  " 

"  Not  on  purpose,  —  not  altogether  with  guile.  —  I  was 
broken.  He  has  even  now  to  step  over  my  desolation  to 
reach  you." 

Melicent  raised  her  handkerchief  to  her  face. 

"  You  can  weep,  Melicent.  I  have  wept.  I  have 
drained  myself  dry,  as  the  stubble  after  reaping. 

"  Did  Richard  have  no  intention  and  respect  of  love 
towards  me  ?  Could  I  raise  none  such  ?  Ah  !  he  said  he 
detested  me!  I  have  been  deceived,  —  I  deceived  myself. 
Junia  !  Junia  !  thou  wert  a  woman  ;  I  was  a  — 

"  Where  am  I  ?  Whither  shall  I  turn  ?  The  world,  that 
clutched  at  my  story,  and,  bartering  its  respect  for  its  envy, 


THE    governor's    FAMILY.  439 

patronized  my  cause,  and  poured  its  venom  on  Richard,  will 
whirl  upon  me." 

"Is  there  not  such  a  thing  as  duty?" 

"  Junia  said  so,  and  you  say  so;   and  I  suppose  it  is  so." 

"  You  speak,"  said  Melicent,  "  as  if  there  were  no  good- 
ness. Is  there  none  in  the  Church,  —  none  in  the  Griped 
Hand,  — none  in  the  little  children,  — none  in  every  street 
of  the  city,  or  in  a  thousand  families,  and  in  innumerable 
individuals  ?  " 

"  Yes,  there  are  good,  honest  men  and  women  among 
what  are  called  the  lower  orders,  —  young  men  and  young 
women,  whom  I  have  associated  with,  and  worked  with, — 
who  would  not  do  a  wrong  thing  for  the  world,  —  who  are 
goodness  itself,  more  than  you  know  of.  But  I  must,  for- 
sooth, look  down  upon  them  !  I  nmst  see  among  them  a 
lower  order  of  taste  and  feeling!  And,  in  fact,  I  must  find 
amongst  many  of  them  an  ignorant,  indeed,  but  systematic 
depreciation  of  what  is  ever  and  deeply  to  my  eye  socially 
bright  and  glorious,  the  Governor's  Family.  Who  of  them 
could  afford  me  that  sympathy  which  my  heart  craved,  or 
my  judgment  would  select?  I  must  either  marry  a  man 
whom  I  despised,  or  be  the  mistress  of  a  man  who  despised 
me.  I  would  do  and  be  neither.  A  man  like  Richard,  Lum- 
berer though  he  be,  can  marry  the  Governor's  daughter  !  " 

"  What  if  you  should  marry  the  Governor's  son  ?  "  said 
Melicent,  playfully.  "  There  is  Brother  Roscoe,  the  odd 
one.  He  used  to  like  you ;  he  left  his  books  to  be  with 
you  ;  he  used  to  swing  you  under  the  elms,  and  run  of 
your  errands.  He  is  not  fond  of  our  society  ;  he  attaches 
himself  to  none  of  the  young  ladies  that  visit  us.  In  all 
this  dreadful  affair,  I  have  noticed  that  he  abstained  from 
reproaching  you.  I  am  not  certain  but  you  carried  away  a 
portion  of  his  heart." 


440  RICHARD   EDNEY,  ETC. 

"  Are  you  willing  that  I  should  marry  him  ? "  asked  Miss 
Eyre. 

"  Indeed,  I  am." 

"  Pure,  good,  magnanimous  Melicent,  how  I  thank  you, 

—  how  I  love  you  —  how  I  am  all  vanquished  again,  — 
killed  by  goodness !     Not  that  I  will  marry  him ;  I  will  not, 

—  never,  never!  —  but  that  you  reveal  yourself  so,  —  you 
look  out  so  prettily,  and  so  Junia-like ! " 

"  Then  you  give  me  Richard,  if  I  give  you  Roscoe  ? " 
This,  also,  playfully. 

"Richard  is  all  yours,  —  was  ever  yours  ;  his  fair,  large 
being,  hidden  to  me,  broods  over  you.  I  am  healed,  not  by 
your  promises,  but  by  your  goodness.  Richard  will  see  no 
bruises  in  me.  But  to  the  world  I  am  dead,  —  I  must  be  as 
dead.  How  can  I  be  obscure  enough  ?  How  shall  I  escape 
Mrs.  Melbourne  ?  Cousin  Rowena,  and  Barbara,  and  all 
of  you,  must  loathe  me.  I  do  not  ask  you  to  save  me. 
Junia  yielded  up  all  her  love  for  you ;  —  you  yield  all  the 
sentiments  of  your  rank  for  me.  What  is  left  for  me  but 
to  yield  myself  to  —  fate  ? 

"God  —  " 

"I  am  humbled  ;  —  teach  me  to  be  pious." 

"And  to  my  discretion." 

"I  am  a  child ;  —  lead  me  where  you  will." 

"I  can  take  care  of  Mrs.  Melbourne,  and  our  family  can 
take  care  of  itself,  and  Providence  \\nll  take  care  of  the 
world." 


CHAPTER    XLVI. 

THE    SUN    BREAKS    OUT, 

Richard  walked  down  St.  Agnes-street,  with  a  tranquil, 
lydian  step.  At  the  gate  of  the  Governor's,  he  saw  Meli- 
cent  standing  in  the  vine-wreathed  piazza,  where  she  had 
come  out  to  wait  for  him.  She  was  dressed  in  her  peculiar 
blue,  which  she  remembered  Richard  liked ;  and  she  was  a 
pure  blue  thought  already,  in  Richard's  imagination,  and 
looked  as  if  her  Guardian  Angel  had  bathed  her  in  the 
azure  of  the  sky,  and  the  azure  of  Richard's  feelings,  and 
placed  her  there  on  purpose  to  meet  her  old  and  good 
beloved. 

She  received  him  with  an  affectionate  smile,  —  a  smile 
that  bared  her  teeth  beautifully,  but  pensively,  as  if  joy 
still  swam  in  the  remembrance  of  a  long  sorrow ;  —  a  smile 
that,  descending,  clove  asunder  her  arms,  and  parted  the 
Doubt  and  the  Fear  that  had  hung  over  her  being,  and 
turned  them  into  silvery  clouds,  on  the  right  hand  and  the 
left,  through  which  Richard  passed  to  the  brightness  of  her 
spirit. 


CHAPTER    XLVII. 


ORANGE-BLOSSOMS. 


The  Wedding  Eve  of  Richard  and  Melicent  was  a  splen- 
did one,  —  splendid  in  its  feelings,  in  its  guests,  in  its 
appointments.  All  the  friends  of  Richard  and  all  the 
friends  of  Melicent  were  there,  and  this  was  a  multitude. 
The  Father  and  Mother  of  Richard  were  there,  and  his 
early  spiritual  and  intellectual  guides.  Pastor  Harold  and 
Teacher  Willwell.  Through  an  illuminated  archway  of 
trees,  and  an  illuminated  portal,  the  guests  swept  to  bright 
chambers,  —  bright  as  the  day-spring  of  joy  that  had  arisen 
on  the  house.  The  brightness  flowed  down  and  culminated 
in  the  ample  drawing-room,  —  raying  from  astrals  and  wax- 
lights,  from  minstrel  hearts  and  evening-star  eyes,  from 
fragrant  fiovv^ers  and  glorified  dresses,  and,  more  than  all, 
from  the  deep,  central  fires  of  holy,  fervent  felicitation. 

Beneath  one  of  the  antique  arches  that  garnished  the 
space  on  either  side  of  the  chimney  stood  Miss  Eyre  and 
Chassford.  Parson  Smith  was  not  sorry  to  be  called  to 
marry  Richard  and  Melicent,  and  it  is  said-  clergymen 
generally  are  happy  at  weddings,  and  fond  of  wedding-cake. 
If  there  was  one  person  in  the  room  not  fully  penetrated  with 
the  spirit  of  the  occasion,  it  was  Mrs.  Melbourne.  She  had 
the  habit  of  saying  a  wedding  was  like  a  funeral ;  and,  as  if 
to  actualize  the  sentiment,  she  came  out  in  black. 

There  entered,  to  make  the  vow  and  receive  the  covenant 
which  the  State  ordains  and  the  Church  supports,  —  which 
in  all  ages  has  been  agreeable  to  the  reason  and  religion 


RICHARD  EDNEY,  ETC,  443 

of  mankind,  —  Richard  and  Melicent,  with  their  train  of 
attendants. 

The  service  was  simple  and  affecting,  brief  and  full,  edi- 
fying and  hopeful.  Before  the  benediction,  an  appropriate 
hymn  was  sung,  led  by  Mangil,  chorister  in  the  Church  of 
the  Redemption.  There  was  a  movement  as  of  a  flocking 
to  kiss  the  bride,  Avhen  Junia  entered  the  room.  The 
crowd  held  back ;  all  eyes  were  suspended  on  her,  while  as 
a  vision  she  passed  through.  She  approached  the  altar- 
place,  and  kissed  Melicent.  Taking  from  her  breast  the 
golden  cross  of  Richard,  she  hung  it  on  Melicent's  neck. 
She  tenderly  kissed  Richard ;  it  was  her  first  and  her  last 
kiss.  She  was  supported  out  of  the  room,  and  was  seen  no 
more  alive  on  the  earth. 

The  returning  and  irresistible  wave  of  joy  brought  the 
whole  room  about  the  Bride  and  Groom,  and  kisses  and  con- 
gratulations fell  upon  them,  like  bouquets  at  the  feet  of 
Jenny  Lind ;  —  we  cannot  keep  that  woman  out  of  our  mind, 
though  we  have  never  seen  or  heard  her,  and  never  expect 
to  do  so;  — not  as  if  the  spot  Junia's  lips  had  touched  was 
holy  ground,  where  no  one  might  tread,  but  as  if  her  com- 
ing in  had  been  a  ray  of  the  sunshine  of  God  on  pleasant 
fields,  where  old  men  and  children,  young  men  and  maidens, 
might  freely  disport.  Cake  and  wine ;  —  and,  lest  some 
feral  reader  shall  find  here  a  bone  to  pick  with  us,  we  will 
tell  the  whole  truth,  —  it  was  Cousin  Rowena's  raspberry 
wine  ;  —  cake  and  wine  were  brought  in,  and  quickly  and 
pleasantly  disposed  of.  Then  followed  the  Bride  Cake ;  the 
May  Queen,  in  this  procession  of  good  things,  mounted  on  a 
silver  basket,  and  daintily  adorned  with  flowers  and  shrub- 
bery. This,  appropriated  to  the  unmarried,  contained  a 
diamond  ring,  with  the  significance  that  whoever  got  the 
rina:  would  be  married  first.     Bachelors  and  maidens  were 


444  RICHARD   EDNEY,  ETC. 

instantly  as  wounded  birds.  Cousin  Eowena  bit  her  lip. 
She  made  the  cake,  and  knew  where  the  ring  lay,  and 
superintended  the  distribution.     Barbara  got  the  ring. 

This  was  hardly  fair,  as  she  belonged  to  the  house ;  but 
there  remained  only  one  piece,  and  there  could  be  no  collu- 
sion about  that ;  and  it  was  to  Cousin's  mind  as  if  Provi- 
dence directed  the  matter,  and  she  said,  slyly,  "  Take  it, 
take  it ;"  so  the  talismanic  bauble  fell  into  the  hands  of 
Barbara. 


CHAPTER    XLVIII. 

ATHANATOPSIS. 

Toll  heavily,  —  toll  sadly !  Ring  out,  oh  Funeral  Bell ! 
Thou  hast  a  place  in  this  our  world.  Thy  knell  is  needed 
as  well  as  thy  chime,  and  w^ill  find  as  many  hearts  prepared 
for  it.  There  is  a  peal,  not  of  exultation  as  of  success,  — 
not  of  terror  as  of  the  grave ;  but  between  these,  and  yet 
louder  and  deeper,  more  thrilling,  more  ecstasizing;  pro- 
longed in  all  the  exercises  of  profoundest  sentiment,  — 
awakening  dim  and  heavenly  responses  in  the  furthest- 
reaching  glimpses  of  the  imagination,  —  drowning  the  voices 
of  the  world,  —  attempering  every  vain,  every  selfish  im- 
pulse, —  coming  upon  the  hours  of  meditation  and  feeling, 
like  the  pensive  rhythm  of  the  sea  on  the  beach  at  midnight ; 
breaking  in  upon  the  abodes  of  sordidness,  lust,  and  all 
unrighteousness,  with  the  hoarse  clangor  of  gathering  doom ; 
a  peal  that  kindles  a  thousand  chords  in  every  heart  —  new 
and  strange  chords  —  and  shakes  with  a  master  hand  old 
chords,  —  chords  that  strike  through,  eliminate  from,  and 
push  beyond,  all  ordinary  pulses  of  existence,  —  chords  that, 
starting  in  the  slumbering  ages  that  have  gone  by,  vibrat- 
ing amid  the  turmoil  and  din  of  the  present  hour,  carry 
forward  the  feelings  to  the  regions  of  Light,  Hope,  Proph- 
ecy :  —  it  is  the  peal  of  Immortality  ! 

Toll  on,  —  toll  out,  thou  Passing  Bell !     At  thy  voice,  the 

solemn  owl  awakes,  and  the   cry  of  the   whippoorwill  is 

heard  ;  amaranths  and  myrtles  grow,  and  daisies  and  violets 

start  in  their  humble  beds;  willows  and  cypresses,  green 

38 


446  RICHARD   EDNEY    AND 

fountains  of  sorrow,  break  out  on  the  hill-side  and  in  the 
valley  J  the  rock  sprouts  in  obelisks,  and  sterile  marble 
yields  fair  cherubic  forms ;  slips  of  roses  are  planted,  to  be 
tended  in  the  long  coming  years  of  sorrow;  and  slips  of  old, 
departed  feelings  are  gathered  up,  and  reanimated  in  the 
bosom  of  loneliness. 

Toll  on,  —  toll  out !  At  thy  wail,  softness  comes  over 
the  sky,  and  piety  into  the  heart ;  friendship  and  love  throng 
to  the  cemetery,  and  tears  distil  as  the  dew  on  the  green 
leaves  that  grow  about  the  tomb,  and  climb  as  the  ivy  over 
ancient  and  beloved  reminiscences ;  taste  and  art  go  forth 
on  feet  of  affection,  and,  with  an  eye  of  tender  inspiration, 
from  all  God's  earth  select  the  fairest  spots  for  the  dead, 
to  lie  in. 

Toll,  toll !  Envy  departs,  animosities  subside,  alienations 
are  reconciled ;  the  fretful  insect  that  weaves  in  the  loom  of 
discord  and  strife  intermits  its  labor ;  the  corroding  worm 
at  the  root  of  faction  and  party  stops  its  gnawing. 

Toll,  toll!  Thy  plaintive  reverberations  spread  every- 
where, and  melt  humanity  into  one ;  the  rich  man  speaks 
gently  to  the  poor,  and  the  poor  man  pities  the  rich ;  the 
bereaved  Pagan  mother  folds  to  her  bosom  the  weeping 
Christian  mother;  the  ferocity  of  revolution  pauses,  muffles 
its  grimness  and  its  arms  on  the  threshold  of  the  chamber  of 
the  dying  prince.  Thy  pathos  sways  the  earth,  and  as  the 
wind,  in  eddies  of  light  and  shadow,  with  lulling  murmur, 
flovvs  across  a  field  of  supple  wheat,  so  mournfulness,  in 
endless,  soothing  measures,  rolls  over  the  hearts  of  the  peo- 
ple of  the  world ;  and  from  the  line  to  either  pole,  all  tribes 
and  tongues  undulate  in  one  long,  ever-recurring,  harmoni- 
ous tremor  of  sad  sensibility. 

Toll  long,  —  toll  loud,  oh  Soul-Bell !  the  requiem  of  time, 
—  the  matin  of  eternity ;  the  dirge  of  earth,  —  the  anthem 


THE    GOVERNOR  S    FAMILY. 


447 


of  heaven ;  the  bell  that  Faith  rings  at  the  door  of  Futurity, 
—  the  bell  that  summons  the  guests  to  the  marriage  supper  of 
the  Lamb !  "  Foolish  man  !  that  which  thou  sowest  is  not 
quickened  except  it  die  ;  this  corruption  shall  put  on  incor- 
ruption,  and  this  mortal  immortality."  The  bell  which  ye 
hear  is  the  signal-note  of  the  great  transition ;  it  announces 
the  final  Germination,  —  it  heralds  the  released  soul  to  the 
paradise  above.  It  rings  out  over  the  successive  ages  and 
generations,  proclaiming  the  Quickening  era  of  human 
existence,  and  conducting  the  grand  emergence  through 
Death  to  Life. 

Strike  once  more.  Christened  Bell !  Thou  art  not  unwel- 
come. Thy  solemnity  jars  not  our  festivity.  As  evening 
opens  a  higher,  more  studded  immensity  than  the  day,  thy 
shadowiness 'reveals  the  dim,  unspeakable  glory  which  the 
sunshine  of  joy  hides  to  our  eye.  The  twilight  of  the  mortal 
is  the  dawn  of  the  immortal.  A  burial  may  succeed  a  wed- 
ding ;  —  the  burial-day  of  Junia  comes  not  harshly  on  the 
wedding-day  of  Eichard  and  Melicent. 

Slowly,  —  tenderly  !  The  city  is  hushed,  and  the  peo- 
ple thereof  listen  reverently.  Young  maidens  bring  flowers 
to  her  bier,  and  young  men  bear  her  on  their  shoulders. 
Diligent  girls  from  the  Factories,  and  strong  men  from  the 
Mills,  come  out;  for  Junia  had  worked  in  the  first,  and 
Eichard  belonged  to  the  last.  Many  knew  how  Junia  had 
contributed  to  the  nuptials  that  had  been  so  universally 
celebrated ;  and  she  died  at  the  Governor's,  and  was  buried 
from  his  house ;  and  there  were  united  in  her  death  and 
burial  not  only  the  popular  sympathies,  but  the  prestige  of 
the  Family,  and  there  fell  into  the  procession  a  long  con- 
course of  citizens. 

Slowly  and  tenderly !  for  Eichard  and  Melicent  follow  as 
chief  mourners;   and  there  glide  into  the  procession  the 


448  RICHARD    EDNEY    AND 

fondness  and  true-heartedness  of  maidenhood,  and  the  kin- 
dling and  respectful  admiration  of  young  men ;  and  much 
pursed  and  austere  meanness  of  manhood  relaxes,  and 
walks  after.  Old  and  warm  recollections  of  what  once 
was,  and  the  cherished  but  fading  idealism  of  what  may  be, 
moved  by  the  sound  of  the  bell,  lengthen  out  the  throng. 
Aspiration  comes  up  from  the  lowly  hovel,  humility  leaves 
the  lordly  chamber,  and  pity  breaks  from  many  a  hard  and 
coarse  environment,  to  wait  on  the  burial. 

Toll  cheerfully  !  cheerfully !  Memmy  and  Bebby  are 
there,  and  other  little  children,  walking  two  and  two. 
There  was  a  tear  in  Memmy's  eye,  for  she  had  thought  that 
she  might  become  an  angel  too.  In  that  morning  of  her 
days,  and  early  dawn  of  thought,  the  dews  of  immortal  feeling 
fell  on  her  eye-lids.  The  "  reminiscence  of  heaven"  within 
her  got  glimpses  of  its  bright  home,  and  it  seemed  not  a 
great  way  to  Jesus,  who  she  knew  took  little  children  into 
his  arms  and  blessed  them. 

Toll  mercifully,  oh  mercifully  !  for  the  traducer  is  there. 
In  deep  black,  folded  in  a  deeper  night  of  sorrow  and  con- 
trition, slowly  follows  Miss  Eyre,  —  "  the  woman  which  was 
a  sinner,"  weeping  at  the  feet  of  that  great  Blessedness,  so 
lately  revealed,  so  suddenly  snatched  away,  but  from  which 
to  her  soul  descended  the  words  of  peace  and  forgiveness, 
which  may  yet  dry  her  tears,  and  animate  her  for  the  duties 
of  life. 

On,  on,  to  Rosemary  Dell,  through  solemn  shades  and 
soft  circuits,  to  the  grave  by  the  side  of  Violet ! 

The  Minister  sprinkled  dust  on  the  coffin,  and  said, 
"Dust  to  dust, — earth  to  earth;"  and,  looking  aloft,  he 
added,  "  Spirit  to  spirit,  —  the  soul  to  its  God  !  Behold," 
he  continued,  "  where  they  have  laid  her !  Sweet  is  the 
sleep  of  death,  —  beautiful  the  repose  of  the  grave  !     No 


THE    GOVERNOR  S    FAMILY.  44^ 

more  shall  storm  disturb  her  peace  ;  no  more  shall  calamity 
afflict  her  days  !  But,"  he  added  "  she  is  not  here,  —  she 
is  risen.  The  grave  cannot  contain  the  immortal  essence. 
She  has  ascended  to  her  Father  and  our  Father,  to  her 
God  and  our  God.  A  flower  of  the  Spiritual  life,  she  was 
permitted  to  blossom  beneath  our  skies,  on  this  our  soil. 
We  beheld  her  beauty, — we  inhaled  her  fragrance.  But 
that  Spiritual  life  has  not  its  eternal  home  here.  She  died, 
and  is  quickened  ;  —  she  was  quickened  even  to  our  sight. 
Dropping  the  perishable  tabernacle  of  the  flesh,  her  soul 
rises  to  the  beatitude  of  the  life  beyond  our  life.  The  mem- 
ory and  power  of  her  virtues  remain  for  our  comfort  and 
edification." 

38^ 


CHAPTER    XLIX. 

E  PITH  A  LAM  Y. 

Not  incongruous,  we  trust,  with  any  one's  presentiments, 
or  with  the  spirit  of  these  pages,  or  with  the  solemnities  of 
a  preceding  day,  as  we  have  reason  to  think  it  was  not  with 
the  feelings  of  Richard  Edney  and  the  Governor's  Family, 
was  a  festivity  that  came  off  a  short  time  afterward,  —  a 
sort  of  bridal  party  thrown  open  to  the  public.  It  was  a 
gift  of  the  Governor  to  the  city,  or  that  portion  of  the  city 
immediately  concerned.  No  house  had  room  enough,  and 
Mayflower  Glen  offered  its  commodiousness  and  beauty. 
The  invitation  was  to  the  Griped  Hand  and  all  interested 
therein  ;  and  of  course  included  a  multitude  of  the  Church, 
many  of  the  first  and  last  families  in  Woodylin,  the  Friends 
of  Improvement,  Knuckle  Lane,  the  Wild  Olives,  and  the 
Islands.  The  Glen  was  lighted ;  music  enlivened  the 
scene ;  refreshments  abounded.  None  were  excluded  save 
such  as  banished  themselves  by  indifTerence  to  the  Griped 
Hand,  of  which  Richard  was  co-founder,  and  those  who 
could  have  no  interest  in  the  Glen,  —  a  part  of  the  system 
of  urban  regeneration  that  had  been  undertaken.  Bronze- 
faced  and  tow-headed  Wild  Olive  boys,  in  whole  jackets, 
were  there;  River  Drivers  and  Islanders,  in  clean  shirts, 
were  there  ;  Chuk,  looking  like  a  tame,  Christianized,  happy 
young  Orson,  was  there ;  Mysie,  in  a  new  blanket  shawl, 
—  a  benison  she  prized  above  all  things,  folded  about  her 
huge  figure  with  a  kind  of  Indian  stateliness,  —  was  there  ; 
the  clerg}^  and   their  deacons,  representatives  from  Victoria 


RICHARD    EDNEY,    ETC.  451 

Square  and  La  Fayette-street,  parents  and  children,  enthu- 
siastic young  men,  and  a  flowery  troop  of  young  girls,  were 
there. 

Richard  and  Melicent  came,  with  their  grooms-men  and 
bride-maids,  and  other  friends.  They  entered  the  Glen  under 
a  sylvan  arch.  Young  children  threw  roses,  white  lilies, 
pansies,  and  sweet  herbs,  on  the  walks  before  them.  Joyous 
music  saluted  them.  As  they  approached  the  centre  of  the 
spot,  an  illuminated  device  sprang  up  as  by  magic  over  their 
heads,  consisting  of  a  True  Love  Knot,  woven  of  laurel,  and 
enclosing  the  two  words,  Virtue  and  Honor,  and  supported 
on  one  side  by  Wild  Olive  boys,  and  on  the  other  by  Clar- 
ence Redfern  and  Herder  Langreen.  At  a  turn  in  the  prome- 
nade, in  a  mossy  nook  under  the  trees,  and  so  lighted  as  to 
have  the  effect  of  a  distant  mountain  side,  they  saw  two 
figures  in  white,  representing  Junia  bestowing  a  chaplet  on 
Melicent.  The  procession  broke  up,  and  the  multitude 
mingled  together,  and  did  what  free  and  joyous  folk  are 
wont  to  do  on  free  and  joyous  occasions,  in  the  midst  of  so 
many  pleasant  surroundings,  and  moved  by  so  many  pleas- 
ant impulses. 

This  festivity,  originating,  indeed,  with  the  Governor,  had 
been  prosecuted  in  detail  by  the  benevolent  and  ingenious 
friends  of  Richard  and  Melicent. 


CHAPTER    L. 


THE    END    OF    CLOVER. 


Without  book,  bell  or  prayer,  unshriven,  unhousled,  with 
no  procession  and  no  sorrow.  Clover  died,  and  was  buried. 

There  are  bad  men  in  our  world,  and  bad  things.  That 
the  substance  of  the  first,  or  the  type  of  the  last,  should 
perish,  can  excite  no  regret. 

Clover,  if  we  may  rely  on  his  own  account  of  himself, 
however  he  possessed  the  first,  certainly  instanced  the  last ; 
—  he  was  an  embodiment  of  all  horridness. 

Not  merely  poetic,  but  historic,  or,  we  might  saj^,  pro- 
phetic justice,  requires  that  he  should  die. 

Nor,  powerful  as  has  hitherto  been  his  influence,  and 
great  "his  terror,  shall  we  be  troubled  to  dispose  of  him, — 
for  God  took  him  away. 

In  the  suburbs  of  the  city  was  a  tavern  known  as  the 
Bay  Horse,  —  almost  the  only  spot  within  the  municipality 
that  had  not  been  purged  of  alcoholic  infection.  It  was 
kept  by  Helskill,  —  hacking,  timid  Helskill,  —  formerly  of 
Quiet  Arbor,  who  had  fled  thither  with  the  relics  of  his 
propertj',  his  disinterestedness,  and  his  customers.  It  was  a 
stopping-place  of  teamsters,  and  the  lounge  of  Belialism.  In 
the  bar-room,  or  "  office,"  of  this  place,  one  night.  Clover 
and  his  confreres  were  met.  The  "  oflice,"  like  many  others 
of  its  kind,  was  a  ding}',  sultry,  mephitic  room,  and  its 
walls  were  plastered  many  layers  deep  with  show-bills,  cir- 
cus pictures,  and  lithographic  battle-pieces  and  heads  of  the 
P*residents.     A  large  box  of    sand   supported  a   Franklin 


RICHARD    EDNEY,    ETC.  453 

Stove,  serving  to  insure  the  house  against  fire,  and  the  deli- 
cacy of  its  inmates  against  alarm  at  not  having  a  place  to 
dispose  of  tobacco-quids,  and  other  matters  that  distinguish 
man  from  the  brute.  Lamps  burned  as  in  a  fog,  the  smoke 
of  the  room  and  dust  of  the  ceiling  absorbing  most  of  the 
rays,  and  leaving  the  less  volatile  accumulations  on  the  floor 
quite  in  the  lurch. 

It  vt'as  a  night  of  pitchy  darkness,  and  cavernous  winds, 
interspersed  with  thunder  and  lightning. 

The  fellows  there  assembled  had  been  drinking,  and  some 
of  them  were  quite  "  balmy." 

There  was  Philemon  Sweetly,  whom  we  have  before 
seen  at  the  Green  Mill,  so  lively  and  reckless.  Clover  had 
seduced  him,  and  he  was  now  out  at  his  elbows,  out  at  his 
purse,  out  at  his  cheeks,  out  everywhere  save  in  his  invisi- 
ble tambourine.  There  was  Weasand,  an  old  attache  of 
Quiet  Arbor,  who  had  adhered  to  Helskill  through  all 
mutations  of  place  and  fortune.  Mr.  Serme,  a  broken-down 
Theatre-manager,  Mr.  Graver,  an  inhabitant  of  the  hamlet 
of  which  the  Bay  Horse  was  the  principal  house,  and  one 
or  two  teamsters,  made  up  the  group. 

Gusts  of  rain  smote  the  house ;  flashes  of  lightning,  — 
what  perhaps  nothing  else  would  do,  —  revealed  these  men 
to  themselves ;  thunder  "rolled  and  exploded  over  their 
heads ;  the  windows  became  alternate  mirrors  of  dismalness 
within,  and  breaks  into  yawning,  blazing  gulfs  without. 

"  I  suppose  I  am  Jove's  bird,"  said  Clover,  pacing  the 
floor.     "  They  reckon  me  in  the  family,  I  think." 

"  Your  upper  lip,"  replied  Philemon,  "  favors  the  idea ;  — 
it  is  hooked,  and  dragonish." 

"That  is  nothing  to  my  talons,  Phil."  He  clutched  at 
Helskill ;  and  Helskill,  being  a  pliant  man,  suffered  himself 


454  RICHARD    EDMEY    AND 

to  be  pulled  to  the  floor.  "  But,"  continued  Clover,  "  I  am 
gorged.     I  have  repasted  on  Richard." 

"  And  feel  qualmish  ?  " 

"I  shall  revive,^^  replied  Clover.  "I  vrorsted  Richard, 
and  he  capitulated.  But  the  smothered  fire  of  rebellion 
breaks  out,  and  that  must  be  smothered  by  the  fires  of  this 
red  right  arm  ! " 

"  Let  us  be  easy  where  we  are,"  said  Weasand,  scraping 
his  thumb-nail  with  a  jack-knife  ;  "  Helskill  is  accommo- 
dating, the  old  '  Horse  '  is  in  tolerable  flesh,  and  we  can 
have  a  few  more  pleasant  rides  before  the  Black  Car  comes 
along." 

"  I  would  n't  speak  of  it,"  said  Mr.  Serme,  who,  stretched 
on  a  table,  was  trying  to  cover  his  eyes  from  the  storm.  "  I 
feel  as  if  it  was  here  now,  —  as  if  it  was  all  around  us, 
and  we  were  in  it." 

"  Repeat  it !  "  said  Clover, 

"  Let  us  not  be  too  free,"  said  Mr.  Craver,  a  red-visaged 
but  white-livered  man,  who  preferred  the  Bay  Horse  to  his 
own  parlor  and  wife  and  children.  He  occupied  a  corner 
of  the  settee,  and  was  trying  very  hard  to  locate  his  chin 
on  the  knob  of  his  cane.  "  I  see  a  coffin  in  the  lamp,  and  a 
dead  woman's  eyes  are  looking  in  at  the  window.  Let  us 
be  as  easy  as  we  can.     I  never  wished  to  wrong  an^'body." 

"  0  mighty  thunderbolt !  "  —  thus  apostrophized  Clover, — 
"  I  am  thy  fellow  !  " 

A  blinding  flash,  that  made  Helskill  shriek,  and  cry, 
«'  Don't !    Clover,  don't !  " 

"  Say,  Do  !  "  rejoined  Clover. 

"O  dear!  yes,  —  do,  then,  do!"  answered  the  peaceful, 
willowy  host. 

"  I  smite,  like  thee  !  "  contirmed  Clover. 


THE    governor's    FAMILY.  455 

"  I  wonder  if  it  ever  gets  its  knuckles  hurt,  and  bunged 
in  the  eye  ?  "  asked  Philemon. 

"  It  is  not  afraid  to  try  them,"  replied  Clover,  aiming  a 
blow  at  Philemon,  which  the  latter  avoided  by  a  little  tam- 
bourining  of  the  head. 

"  'T  is  horrible  to  die  so,  Mr.  Graver,"  said  Mr.  Serme. 
"  You  can't  even  turn  on  your  side  to  get  rid  of  it,  or  take 
it  easier." 

"  There  will  be  one  less  to  eat  corn,"  observed  a  teamster, 
who  sat  in  a  broken-bottomed  chair,  with  his  cheeks  repos- 
ing in  the  palms  of  his  hands. 

"  I  don't  see  why  my  wife  takes  it  so  hard,"  marvelled 
Mr.  Graver.  "  What  is  she  out  such  a  night  as  this  for?  I 
always  said  to  her,  says  I,  '  Mrs.  Graver,  you  have  enough 
to  eat.'  Need  she  shriek  so,  and  my  daughters  hang 
shrouds  on  the  trees  for  me  to  look  at  ? " 

"  I  DEFY  it !  "  said  Glover. 

"Please,"  said  Weasand,  "stand  out  of  my  light,  the 
next  time  it  comes ;  I  want  to  get  a  look  at  Helskill's  face." 

"  I  am  awful,"  continued  Clover,  "  but  useful ;  and,  if 
severe,  yet  just." 

"  Just  so,  exactly,"  remarked  the  teamster. 

"  Look  at  Glover,  Helskill,"  said  Philemon  ;  "  I  command 
you  to  look  at  him  I  " 

"  I  will,  I  will,"  replied  the  obliging  man.  "  Only  this;  " 
— he  shook  his  head  as  if  the  lightnings  annoyed  him. 

"  History,"  Glover  went  on,  "  makes  more  mention  of  me 
than  of  any  other  living  man.  Art  adores  me,  —  lo  !  "  He 
pointed  to  the  pictures  on  the  walls.  There  was  a  battle  of 
the  Florida  War,  supported  by  a  figure  of  Liberty  on  one 
side  of  the  piece,  and  Justice  on  the  other.  "  0,  reverend 
gods  I  "  he  exclaimed  ;  "  ye  know,  ye  appreciate  my  worth  ! 


456  RICHAUD   EDNEY   AND 

O  Divine  Providence,  how  couldst   thou   get    on  vsrithout 


me 


"  Devils  and  damned  spirits  !  "  groaned  Mr.  Serme ;  "  I 
am  not  ready.  Hell  opens  to  receive  me  !  Mr.  Graver,  take 
my  conscience,  —  cut  it  out,  —  hide  it,  — burn  it !  Quick ! 
—  they  are  after  it." 

"A  man  has  a  right  to  drink,"  replied  Mr.  Graver;  "I 
always  told  Mrs.  Graver  so." 

"  What  hands  the  flies  are  to  get  into  things  ! "  remarked 
the  teamster ;  "  here  is  one  crawling  under  my  shirt 
sleeve." 

"  Good  Helskill,  —  kind,  hospitable  Helskill,  —  would  you 
let  a  dry,  a  very  dry  man,  have  something  to  moisten  him- 
self? "  asked  Weasand. 

A  vivid  and  deafening  bolt,  that  silenced  them  all. 

"  Appalling  !  "  said  Glover ;  "  but  sweet,  and  refreshing, 
like  glory." 

"  Glover  is  a  knowing  'un,"  said  Philemon.  "  I  wonder 
if  he  Avould  n't  like  to  go  up  among  the  lightnings,  about 
this  time,  and  touch  them  off,  —  perhaps  ram  cartridges  for 
some  of  the  big  guns." 

"Would  they  dare  to  touch  me  ofFi !  Gompeer  of  the 
Almighty,  I,  Glover,  am  ;  —  the  first  and  last  resort  of  kings  I 
I  am  lightnings  !  I  wish  I  could  fall  to-night  on  two  devoted 
heads.  It  is  with  difliculty,  with  self-denial,  my  friends, 
that  I  restrain  myself." 

"  Folderol !  "  answered  Philemon ;  "  let  them  sleep. 
They  are  just  married.     You  have  done  mischief  enough." 

"  Mischief!  If  it  was  not  you,  Phil,  —  if  you  was  any- 
body else,  I  would  kill  you,  Phil.  Thr'pence  a  pound  on 
tea  is  nothing  to  what  I  feel.  I  can  feel,  —  I  can  feel  an 
insult.  I  can  feel  an  invasion  of  my  rights,  —  the  rights 
of  all  governments,  —  the  rights  of  the  stronger.     Mischief! 


THE  governor's  fabiily.  457 

You  have  not  heard  of  Trajan's  column,  or  Nelson's  mon- 
ument, or  the  Temple  of  Fame  ?  Lie  still,  puppy !  I  dare 
Almighty  God ! " 

"  Not  that ;  — don't  say  that;  —  we  are  not  quite  up  to 
that,"  said  Philemon, 

"  God  says,"  continued  Clover,"  Thou  shalt  not  kill ;  —  I 
kill.  He  says,  Keep  the  Sabbath  ;  — ■  I  never  yet  kept  one. 
He  says.  Love  your  enemy ;  —  now  it  strikes  one  it  is 
rather  presumptuous  to  say  that  to  me  !  Why,  I  suppose  I 
am  the  only  regular.  Old  Line,  opposition  left.  If  I  were 
out  of  the  way,  these  numbskulls  of  humanity  would  have 
a  great  time.  My  ancestors  lived  to  a  good  old  age,  and  I 
shall  do  the  same.     Consult  the  Clover  genealogy !  " 

"  Drink,  Clover,  and  sit  down." 

"  Not  while  you  try  to  cow  me,  Phil.  Not  till  my  power 
is  acknowledged." 

Another  flash. 

"  Ha  !  ha  !  that 's  some.  They  smell  me  !  They  know 
I  am  up  and  dressed !  I  defy  the  storm  !  I  challenge  all 
the  fires  of  heaven  !     Meet  me,  ye  dread  ministers,  where 

YE  WILL, I  Mil  READY  !  !  " 

"  Don't !  "  cried  Helskill. 

"  Mercy !     Clover,  God,  Devil ! "  agonized  Mr.  Serme. 

"  It  is  n't  best,"  said  Mr.  Craver.  "  If  the  children  would 
go  to  bed,  and  not  be  rummaging  gullies  so.  It  is  n't  best, 
Mr.  Clover.  I  hold  to  moderation.  If  Mrs.  Craver — [a 
flash] — wife,  don't  sweep  that  rock ;  —  put  up  your  broom  ! 
Take  in  more  sewing." 

"  I  '11  stump  him  to  do  it !  "  exclaimed* the  teamster. 

"  Yes,"  said  Philemon,  "  let  him  do  it,  —  he  wants  to  so 
much." 

"  Do  is  the  word !  "  responded  Clover.  "  I  will  meet 
them  at  the  Old  Oak  in  the  Stone  Pasture !  I  will  meet 
39 


458  RICHARD    EDNEY    AND 

their  Goliath,  the  lightnings,  there!  I  will  tweak  the  nose 
of  Vengeance  !     Come,  boys,  —  follow  bie  !  " 

He  seized  his  hat,  and  rushed  out  of  doors,  followed  by 
the  rest.  Neither  Mr.  Serme  nor  Mr.  Graver  dared  be  left 
alone  ;  and  they  went  too.  Helskill,  whom  no  emergency 
could  deter  from  the  systematic  pursuit  of  his  business,  ran 
after,  with  a  bottle  in  each  hand. 

It  was  a  fearful  hour ;  —  gutters  running  in  torrents, 
winds  whisking  the  helpless  trees,  the  wizard  glare  of  the 
lightnings,  the  thunder  bellowing  a  call  to  some  unheard-of 
catastrophe,  filled  them  with  excitement  and  forebodings. 
On  they  went,  across  brook  and  bog,  over  fences  and  rock, 
dripping,  blaspheming,  headed  by  the  satanic  Clover. 

They  reached  the  Old  Oak,  a  large,  skeleton-likV,  wiry 
tree,  whose  stubborn  branches  unbent  to  the  storm,  and  only 
the  leaves  were  shaken,  even  as  moss  on  a  rock  twinkles  in 
the  wind. 

Clover  smote  his  fist  on  the  tree,  and,  looking  up,  said, 
"  Ye  powers  of  heaven,  or  hell,  I  have  come  ! ! !  " 

A  flash  of  lightning  struck  him  dead  !  It  stunned  his 
comrades,  who  recovered  to  find  their  old  leader,  whose  last 
impious  attitude  the  blaze  at  the  same  instant  revealed  and 
extinguished,  prostrate  and  dishevelled  at  the  foot  of  the 
tree. 

That  steel-nerved  arm  was  wilted;  —  those  scorn-glancing 
eyes  were  upturned  in  glassy  impotence  ;  — that  redoubtable 
chest  should  heave  no  more.  His  long  red  locks  seemed  to 
sweal  in  the  pouring  rain  ;  — his  trunk  and  limbs  dammed 
a  brief  rivulet  that  hasted  to  bury  him. 

Alarm  of  conscience  crowding  upon  the  shock  of  incident, 
these  infatuated  rnen  knew  not  what  to  do.  They  con- 
sulted hurriedly  and  wildly,  and  proceeded  to  bury  the  car- 
cass where  it  lay. 


THE    governor's   FAMILY.  459 

Turf,  swale  grass,  stones,  stumps,  were  brought  together, 
and  piled  upon  it.  Philemon,  snatching  the  bottles  of  Hel- 
skill,  threw  them  upon  the  body  of  this  wickedness,  and 
they  were  buried,  too. 

Through  long  hours  these  men  worked. 

The  rain  chilled  and  impeded  exertion  ;  the  lightning  dis- 
played a  ghastly  object  to  their  eyes,  and  quickened  more 
ghastly  apprehensions  in  their  bosoms ;  unrelenting  thun- 
ders rung  out  a  judgment-day  alarum ;  Terror  seemed  to 
winnow  with  its  wings  the  air  they  breathed. 

Their  task  done,  they  returned  to  the  tavern  soberer,  and 
we  will  hope,  better  men. 


CHAPTER    LI. 

GATHERED    FRAGMENTS. 

We  might  say  more  things  of  Richard,  and  of  what  per- 
tains to  him ;  we  might  relate  how,  through  the  Governor, 
who  was  one  of  the  corporators  of  the  Dam  and  Mills,  he 
became  Agent  of  that  extensive  interest;  how  he  built  a 
fine  house  on  land  near  Bill  Stonners'  Point,  deemed  one 
of  the  most  picturesque  spots  in  the  Beauty  of  Woodylin ; 
and  how  he  got  the  land,  with  its  fine  park  of  forest  trees, 
of  Mysie  and  Chuk,  who  would  part  mth  it  to  nobody  else  ; 
how  he  was  respected  and  beloved  by  his  fellow-citizens, 
and  became  Mayor  of  the  city ;  and  how  the  Griped  Hand 
continued  to  flourish,  recruiting  the  Church  on  the  one 
hand,  and  replenishing  the  purity  and  beauty,  the  law  and 
order,  of  the  city,  on  the  other.  But,  leaving  these  things, 
as,  perhaps,  we  are  bound  in  justice  to  do,  "  to  the  imagina- 
tion of  the  reader,"  we  shall  briefly  advert  to  one  or  two 
other  topics. 

Barbara,  as  Cousin  Rowena  forethought,  and  the  ring 
seemed  to  announce,  married  Chassford.  Their  nuptials 
were  celebrated  with  becoming  dignity  and  lustre.  Richard 
facilitated  this  consummation,  —  first,  by  his  faithful  dealing 
with  Chassford's  vices  ;  secondly,  by  the  support  he  afforded 
to  his  virtues.  We  have  so  far  outlined  the  character  both 
of  Barbara  and  Chassford  as  possibly  to  afford  ground  for 
the  opinion  that  they  were  eminently  fit  for  each  other,  as 
regards  native  and  genuine  qualities  of  mind  and  heart,  and 
in  matter  of  taste  and  education. 


RICHARD    EDNEY,    ETC.  461 

There  interfered  a  melancholy  barrier  to  their  mutual 
wishes,  in  the  incipient  profligacy  of  Chassford.  If  Richard 
had  his  sorrows,  Barbara  was  not  without  hers.  And  it  is 
worthy  of  remark,  that  while  Richard  was  secretly  laboring 
to  reform  Chassford,  Barbara  was  equally  active,  in  a  silent 
way,  for  the  restoration  of  Richard.  Cousin  Rowena  was 
not  a  little  inspired  by  Barbara.  In  fact,  Richard  under- 
stood Chassford  better  than  Barbara  did,  and  Barbara  under- 
stood Richard  better  than  Melicent  did ;  and  not  unnaturally. 
A  great  sorrow  often  disturbs  the  judgment  in  the  direction 
in  which  it  moves,  leaving  it  clear  in  other  quarters.  So 
Barbara,  darkened  in  regard  to  Chassford,  thought  she 
could  distinctly  translate  Richard  to  Melicent,  as  Richard 
presumed  he  had  the  key  to  Chassford.  After  his  return  to 
Melicent,  Richard  had  freer  opportunity  to  work  for  the 
hearts  and  happiness  of  these  unfortunate  ones.  If  the 
repentance  of  the  sinner  communicates  joy  to  the  heavenly 
world,  there  must  be  pleasure  in  the  sight  of  Fidelity  fondly 
sweeping  among  the  waste  of  things  for  the  lost  piece  of 
virtue,  —  Hope  sitting  on  the  shore  of  evil,  trying  to  discern 
the  form  of  the  beloved  one  in  the  distant  wreck,  —  Affec- 
tion welcoming  the  weather-worn  memories  of  other  days, 
opening  its  doors  to  the  promise  and  aspiration  of  a  new  life, 
and  healing  the  wounds  which  sin  has  made.  If  Love  can- 
not forgive,  how  shall  Justice  ever  ? 

Glendar  bowed  himself  politely  from  the  Governor's 
Family  and  from  the  city,  as  he  does  from  this  Tale. 

Mrs.  Melbourne  bore  no  malice,  and  would  allow  that 
she  was  actuated  by  no  meanness,  toward  Richard.  She 
believed  Miss  Eyre,  —  her  prejudices  reinforced  her  belief; 
her  energy,  having  so  strong  a  team  in  hand,  would  easily 
haul  Richard  to  perdition.  His  elevation,  compassed  in 
39* 


462  RICHARD    EDNEY    AND 

spite  of  herself,  she  had  at  length  the  good  sense  to  see  was 
deserved,  and  the  candor  to  applaud. 

We  take  our  leave  of  Miss  Eyre  with  an  unaffected 
interest  and  the  tenderest  compassion.  Forgiven  by  others, 
she  could  not  forgive  herself.  She  would  lay  a  daily  offer- 
ing of  loneliness  and  woe  on  the  altar  of  the  Great  Good 
she  had  impeded.  Koscoe  would  really  have  married  her; 
there  was  an  oddity  in  the  thing  that  suited  the  oddity  of 
his  temper ;  —  or,  rather,  there  was  romance  in  her  history 
which  kindled  his  imagination ;  and  more,  there  was  a  deep, 
underlying  vividness,  freedom,  struggle,  in  all  her  life, 
which  comported  with  the  sensibilities  of  his  own  nature,  — 
sensibilities  hidden  by  the  roughness  and  reserve  of  his 
ordinary  manner.  She  replied,  "  There  is  a  spot  sacred  to 
the  memory  and  peace  of  Junia,  where  she  practised  sub- 
mission and  obtained  serenity ;  and,  what  I  have  never  done, 
by  schooling  the  importunities  of  her  heart,  and  frowardness 
of  her  will,  she  became  strong  in  faith,  and  heroic  in  action. 
Thither  I  would  go.  I  have  lived,  I  know  not  to  what  end, 
or  with  what  motive.  I  must  ripen  in  seclusion  those 
virtues  which  can  alone  make  life  tolerable,  or  endeavor 
useful.  If  you  can  love  me,  remember  me;  and  if  you 
remember  me,  it  will  help  me."  She  went  to  the  farm-cot- 
tage where  Junia  spent  so  many  agreeable  months. 

Miss  Freeling  married  Mr.  Cosgrove,  and  Cousin  Rowena 
Teacher  Willwell.  This  was  Richard's  doings,  —  nay, 
Teacher  Willwell  did  it  himself.  Practising  the  rule  he 
taught,  —  to  see  what  things  are  made  for,  —  at  the  nuptials 
of  Richard  and  Melicent,  he  decided  that  Cousin  was  made 
for  himself.  She  marvelled  that  so  simple  a  rule  could  be 
so  accurate. 

Simon  rose  to  the  post  of  Richard's  hack-driver. 

Captain  Creamer  so  far  prospered  as  to  be  able  to  take  of 


THE    governor's    FAMILY.  463 

Eichard  the  rent  of  the  identical  saw  at  which  he  had 
originally  offered  Richard  the  chance  of  the  slip. 

Memmy  and  Bobby,  —  God  bless  their  little  hearts ! 
words  fail  to  describe  their  joy  in  seeing  Uncle  Richard 
happy  again,  and  particularly  at  the  sight  of  his  new  house  ; 
and  all  the  fleeting,  bird-like  ways  they  took  to  show  it,  — 
and  how  they  ran  of  errands  between  Mamma  and  Aunt 
Melicent,  —  and  in  a  little  basket,  under  a  little  cover,  car- 
ried dishes  of  strawberries,  and  rounds  of  warm,  light  cake, 
and  an  occasional  potted  pigeon. 


CHAPTER    LII. 

PARTING   WORDS. 

1.  To  the  inquiry,  "  What  business  has  Clover  in  these 
pages  ?"  The  same  that  what  he  represents  has  in  the 
world  at  large. 

There  is  a  Something  both  principle  and  practice,  organ- 
ized, constitutional,  customary,  bepraised,  canonized,  conse- 
crated in  the  Prayer  Book,  and  in  many  pulpits,  —  in  the 
public  relations  of  the  human  kind,  precisely  like  Clover  in 
the  urban  and  domestic  connections  of  this  Tale.  Clover 
acts  from  the  same  impulse  that  that  acts.  That  Something 
is  a  gigantic,  international  Clover.  Clover  is  the  same 
epitomized.  It  was  agreeable  to  the  original  cast,  as  well 
as  ulterior  purpose,  of  this  volume,  that  that  Something,  his- 
torically so  conspicuous,  should  take  a  biographical  form. 
Let  it  be  incarnated,  and  in  personal  unity  inhabit  a  town, 
and  reside  in  our  houses,  and  see  how  it  looks ! 

2.  To  those  authors  from  whom,  in  the  composition  of 
this  Tale,  we  have  borrowed,  we  return  sincere  thanks.  If 
our  publishers,  who  are  obliging  gentlemen,  consent,  we 
would  like  to  forward  a  copy  of  the  book  to  each  of  them. 
If  they  dislike  anything  of  theirs  in  this  connection,  they 
will  of  course  withdraw  it ;  —  should  they  chance  to  like 
anything  of  ours,  they  have  full  permission  to  use  it.  This 
would  seem  to  be  fair. 

Pope  Gregory  VII.  burned  the  works  of  Varro,  from  whom 
Augustine  had  largely  drawn,  that  the  Saint  might  not  be 
accused  of  plagiarism.    We  have  no  such  extreme  intention. 


RICHARD    EDNEY,  ETC.  465 

First,  it  would  be  an  endless  task.  What  consteraation  in 
the  literary  world,  should  even  the  humblest  author  under- 
take such  a  thing !  And  such  authors  are  the  ones  who 
would  be  most  inclined  to  cancel  their  obligations  in  this 
way.  We  might  fire  the  Cambridge  librarj' ;  but,  alas  !  the 
assistant  librarian,  whose  pleasant  face  has  beguiled  for  us 
so  much  weary  research  in  those  alcoves,  and,  as  it  were, 
illuminated  the  black  letter  of  so  many  recondite  volumes, 

—  to  see  him  shedding  tears  over  their  ashes,  would  undo 
us !  We  are  weak  there.  Secondly,  it  comports  at  once 
with  manliness  and  humility  to  confess  one's  indebtedness. 
Thirdly,  as  a  matter  of  expediency,  it  is  better  to  avail  one's 
self  of  a  favorable  wind  and  general  convoy  to  fame,  than 
run  the  risk  of  being  becalmed,  and  perhaps  devoured,  on 
some  private  and  unknown  route.  But,  lastly,  and  chiefly, 
let  it  be  recorded,  there  is  a  social  feeling  among  authors, 

—  they  cherish  convivial  sentiments,  —  they  are  never 
envious  of  a  fellow;  there  is  not,  probably,  a  great  author 
living,  but  that,  like  a  certain  great  king,  would  gladly 
throw  a  chicken,  or  a  chicken's  wing,  from  his  feathered 
abundance,  to  any  poor  author,  and  enjoy  its  effect  in  light- 
ing up  the  countenances  of  the  poor  author's  wife  and  chil- 
dren. Wherefore  it  is  that  plagiarism,  after  all,  is  to  be 
considered  rather  in  the  light  of  good  cheer  and  kindly 
intercourse,  than  as  evidence  of  meanness  of  disposition,  or 
paucity  of  ideas. 

3.  To  the  tourist,  who,  with  guide-book  in  hand,  and 
curious  pains-taking,  seeks  to  recover  scenes  and  places 
fleetingly  commemorated  in  these  pages,  we  are  obliged  to 
say,  he  will  be  disappointed.  This  Tale,  in  the  language 
of  art,  is  a  composition,  not  a  sketch.  There  is  no  such 
city  as  Woodylin;  or,  more  truly,  we  might  affirm,  the 
materials  of  it  exist  throughout  the  country.     Its  population 


466  KICHARO   EDXEY   AND 

and  its  pursuits  are  confined  to  no  single  locality,  but  are 
scattered  everywhere.  Its  elements  of  good,  hope,  progress, 
may  be  developed  everywhere  ;  — would,  too,  that  whatever 
it  contains  prejudicial  to  human  weal  might  be  depressed  in 
all  regions  of  the  earth  I 
4.  To  the  book  itself. 

"  Vade  Liber." 
Go,  Little  Book. 

"  Qualis,  non  ausim  dicere,  felix." 
What  will  be  your  fortune,  I  cannot  tell. 

"  Vade  tamen  quocunque  lubet,  quascunque  per  oras, 
I  blandas  inter  Charites,  mystamque  saluta 
Musarum  quemvis,  si  tibi  lector  erit. 
Rura  colas,  urbemque." 
Yet  go  •wherever  you  like,  —  go  everywhere,  —  go  among  kind  people  ; 
you  may  even  venture  to  introduce  yourself  to  the  severer  sort,  if  they  will 
admit  you.     Visit  the  city  and  the  country. 

"Si  criticus  lector,  tumidus  censorque  molestus, 

Zoilus  et  Momus,  si  rabiosa  cohors,"  —  approach, 
"Fac  fugias,"  —  fly. 

"Lseto  omnes  accipe  vultu, 
Quos,  quas,  vel  quales,  inde  vel  unde  viros." 
Look  cheerfully  upon  all,  men  and  women,  and  all  of  ever}'  condition. 

Go  into  farm-houses  and  rustic  work-shops ;  call  at  the 
homes  of  the  opulent  and  the  powerful ;  visit  schools ;  say 
to  the  minister  you  have  a  word  for  the  Church.  I  know 
you  will  love  the  family ;  —  you  may  stay  in  the  kitchen, 
and,  as  you  are  so  neatly  dressed,  and  behave  so  prettily, 
they  will  let  you  sit  in  the  parlor.  Let  the  hard  hand  of 
the  laboring  classes  hold  you,  nor  need  you  shrink  from  the 
soft  hand  of  fair  maiden.  Speak  pleasantly  to  the  little 
children ;  —  I  need  not  fear  on  that  score ;  —  speak  wisely 
and  respectfully  to  parents.  You  may  enter  the  haunts  of 
iniquity,  and  preach  repentance  there ;  you  may  show  your 


THE  governor's  fasiilt.  467 

cheerful  face  in  sordid  abodes,  and  inspire  a  love  for  purity 
and  blessedness.  Go  West,  —  go  South  ;  you  need  not  fear 
to  utter  a  true  word  anywhere.  Especially  —  and  these 
are  your  private  instructions  —  speak  to  our  Young  Men, 
and  tell  them  not  to  be  so  anxious  to  exchange  the  sure 
results  of  labor  for  the  shifting  promise  of  calculation, —  tell 
them  that  the  hoe  is  better  than  the  yard-stick.  Instruct 
them  that  the  farmer's  frock  and  the  mechanic's  apron  are 
as  honorable  as  the  merchant's  clerk's  paletot  or  the  student's 
cap.  Show  them  how  to  rise  in  their  calling,  not  out  of  it ; 
and  that  intelligence,  industry  and  virtue,  are  the  only 
decent  way  to  honor  and  emolument.  Help  them  to  bear 
sorrow,  disappointment,  and  trial,  which  are  wont  to  be  the 
lot  of  humanity.  And,  more  especially,  demonstrate  to 
them,  and  to  all,  how  they  may  Be  Good  and  Do  Goon ! 
^'  If  it  is  thought  worth  while  to  take  j'ou  to  Tartary,  be 
not  afraid  to  go.  Look  up  bright  and  strong.  When  those 
people  come  to  understand  your  language,  I  think  they  will 
like  you  very  much. 

Should  inquiries  arise  touching  your  parentage  and  con- 
nections,— a  natural' and  laudable  curiosity,  which,  as  a 
stranger  in  the  world,  you  will  be  expected  to  enlighten, — 
you  may  say  that  you  are  one  of  three,  believed  to  be  a 
worthy  family,  comprising  two  brothers  and  one  sister. 
That  a  few  years  since,  your  author  published  the  history 
of  a  young  woman,  entitled  "  Margaret :  a  Tale  of  the  Eeal 
and  the  Ideal ;  "  —  and  that  at  the  same  time,  and  as  a  sort 
of  counterpart  and  sequel  to  this,  he  embraced  the  design  of 
writing  the  history  of  a  young  man,  and  you  are  the  result. 
The  first  shows  what,  in  given  circumstances,  a  woman  can 
do  ;  the  last  indicates  what  may  be  expected  of  a  man  ;  —  the 
first  is  more  antique ;  the  last,  modern.  Both  are  local  in 
action,  but  diflfusive   in  spirit.     In  the  mean  time,  he  has 


4ba  RICHARD   EDNEY,    ETC, 

written  "  Philo,  an  Evangeliad  : "  cosmopolitan,  (ecumen- 
ical, sempiternal,  in  its  scope,  embodying  ideas  rather  than 
facts,  and  uniting  times  and  places ;  and  cast  in  the  only- 
form  in  which  such  subjects  could  be  disposed  of,  the  alle- 
goric and  symbolical,  —  or,  as  it  is  sometimes  termed,  the 
poetic.  The  two  first  are  individual  workers  ;  the  last  is  a 
representative  life.  "  Philo  "  is  as  an  angel  of  the  everlast- 
ing Gospel ;  you  and  "  Margaret,"  one  in  the  shop,  and  the 
other  on  the  farm,  are  practical  Christians.  However  dif- 
ferent your  sphere  or  your  manners,  you  may  say  you  all 
originate  on  the  part  of  your  author  in  a  single  desire  to 
glorify  God  and  bless  his  fellow-men.  "Philo  "has  been 
called  prosy ;  "  Margaret "  was  accounted  tedious.  You, 
"  Kichard,"  I  know,  will  appear  as  well  as  you  can,  and  be 
Avhat  you  are,  —  honest  certainly,  pleasing  if  possible. 

God  bless  thee.  Little  Book,  and  anoint  thee  for  thy  work, 
and  make  thee  a  savor  of  good  to  many !  We  shall  meet 
again,  in  other  years  or  worlds.  May  we  meet  for  good, 
and  not  for  evil !  If  there  is  any  evil  in  thy  heart  or  thy 
ways,  God  purge  it  from  thee  ! 


ft^ 


/^<^> 


14  DAY  USE 

RETURN  TO  DESK  FROM  WHICH  BORROWED 

LOAN  DEPT. 

This  book  is  due  on  the  last  date  stamped  below, 
or  on  the  date  to  which  renewed.  Renewals  only: 

Tel.  No.  642-3405 
Renewals  may  be  made  4  days  priod  to  date  due. 
Renewed  books  are  subjea  to  immediate  recall. 


SAMTA  BAP^.ARA 


tm  MONTH  AnER  amiih 


J-UlL 


NOV  24  1970 


/-/-?/ 


m^m  p^i^  ^7e 


»Gi%      MAR,  778 


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